White Noise
by Unlabelled
Summary: A move back to England triggers a surge of bad memories for Carlisle, and the bonds of the Cullen coven are tested as those memories become a reality. Carlisle/Esme.
1. Chapter 1

A move back to England triggers a surge of bad memories for Carlisle, and the bonds of the Cullen coven are tested as those memories become a reality.

.

 **Warning: this story will mention child abuse and violence, so please don't read it if you find it triggering or it's not your thing.**

It was just as cold and inhospitable as he remembered. Rain had rashed the landscape throughout the entire drive, and Carlisle found himself squeezing the steering wheel a little too hard. He clenched his teeth instead, hoping that the pain in his jaw might distract him from taking it out on his car. It didn't, but a tired sigh released the built up tension in his body.

Esme snuck her hand onto his leg as they drove. She was glad that they'd decided to travel alone; whatever it was that was bothering Carlisle, it wasn't helped by the others asking about it constantly. The silence in the car was so tight it was hard to breathe, and she couldn't stand it anymore. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." He had snapped, and they both winced. Instantly apologetic, he reached down to thread their fingers together. "I'm okay...Sorry." There wasn't anything that could have proved that he wasn't alright to her _better_ than his abrupt response.

"You're upset about the move, though," she guessed. The silence only worsened as she leaned back in her seat, and she squeezed his hand. Usually, the lack of conversation was comfortable between them, and they could sit in each other's company for hours, but he was distant and she wasn't used to it. She didn't like it, either.

Driving came naturally, but it was growing exponentially more difficult as he struggled to stay focused. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with her yet, but there was no escaping it now. He knew that he couldn't fool her, and that she wouldn't just leave it alone. He thought about his reply for a while before answering, not wanting to upset her. "I'm not sure about leaving Forks," he admitted hesitantly, risking a glance over at her to gauge her reaction, but she had any disappointment carefully covered.

The half-truth was instantly obvious to her; she'd known him far too long for him to be able to hide anything. "Leaving Forks, or moving to England, Carlisle?"

Swallowing thickly, he bit his lip to avoid answering. She'd been excited about rebuilding their home for months, and he didn't want to ruin it for her. He also didn't want to lie. "...coming to England..." Saying it aloud make him want to hyperventilate, and he found himself counting lamp posts as a distraction. The habit had formed in the same area when he was a child, counting fences to stem the anxiety of going home. The landscape was very different now, but his feelings about it were still the same.

Her frown deepened. "We could move somewhere else," she suggested softly. It would be a hard blow to the family, seeming as they were all looking forward to settling again, but she'd do it in a heartbeat if it would stop her husband worrying.

He forced a smile; it was too late to agree to that now. "It's fine; I'll get used to it."

.

.

His head spun as he got out of the car. The sight of the house was enough to make him nauseous, and the fact that he had to live here for the next who-knows-how-many years made his stomach hurt.

Esme took the keys from him when he didn't move, unable to wipe the smile off her face as she stepped forward to open the front door. She took a deep breath upon pushing the door open, savouring the slightly toxic smell of fresh paint. The house had been in construction for the last six months, and it was finally finished. Turning around to face her husband, her smile started to fade. "Carlisle?"

Letting out a breath he didn't realise he was holding, he forced himself to walk forward, trying to calm down before he reached the door. The last thing either of them needed right now was for him to freak out the moment he got in the door.

Everything was too loud, and it was making his head hurt. Each scrape of the furniture against hard wooden floors only compounded the sick feeling in his stomach, and he just wanted the process to be over. It was making him rush, which didn't make him any more steady on his feet, but Carlisle just wanted it all to be over. Moving to England was supposed to be a fresh start for all of them, like moving always was; they would be able to make London home for at least another five years, maybe longer if they didn't attract attention. Except he just wanted to turn around and go back to Forks. Or Alaska. Or anywhere which wasn't where he'd lived as a child. Even Italy was better in his mind. But he'd stay here for Esme, no matter how awful being back felt. He could just get over it; she'd put her heart into designing the house, pouring over various shades of white and floor finishes for hours. All they had to do now was arrange the furniture, and they'd be settled. Or the rest of them would be. Carlisle wondered if he'd ever be able to feel comfortable here.

.

.

He was shifting the table into place when the room warped sideways. He stumbled back into the wall to find some stability, sliding his back down it to sit on the floor. Suddenly fighting back nausea, he leaned his forehead against knees.

Although he'd hoped to have recovered by the time Esme came back into the room, she noticed his silence and came in search of him. Her heart dropped upon catching sight of her husband. "Are you okay? Carlisle?" Crouching down, she swallowed hard to shove back panic, rubbing his arm.

Words wouldn't come. He tried to tell her that he was fine, but he couldn't form the sentence. Everything sounded like it was echoing through a tunnel, though he knew the wooden floors wouldn't distort Esme's voice like that. "...going to pass out..." he mumbled eventually. Either that, or throw up. It shouldn't happen, though; he was immortal.

"O-okay, sweetheart," she stammered. Her eyes burned with tears that would never fall as she watched him struggle to remain conscious. It was like her world would end if he did happen to pass out. "What's happening? What do I do?" Short of pleading with him, she was stuck. "I don't know how to help you, Carlisle..."

He forced himself to look up at her. "It's okay, Esme...I'm just dizzy..." His voice shook more than he wanted; he was scared, as much as he didn't want to acknowledge it.

She squeezed his fingers, nibbling her lip. "Do you want to lie down for a while?" Maybe the move was too much. Perhaps the stress had gotten on top of him. But it didn't make sense. Carlisle _always_ dealt with everything.

"...I don't think I can stand up..." he admitted. His head throbbed and he leaned forward again.

"What do I do?" she pleaded again. Lost and beyond anxious, she sat beside him, wrapping her arms around him to pull him into her. "Carlisle-"

"...stay...please...?" It was all she could do. He couldn't say it, but Carlisle was terrified; this couldn't be happening.

She just nodded. Having him against her helped to dull the sting of her bewilderment, and she slowly guided him to lie with his head in her lap, gently sifting her fingers through his hair. "Of course."

.

.

Eventually, dizziness gave way to exhaustion. He still felt like he was going to be sick, but now he just needed to sleep, if only it was possible.

She sighed in relief as the tension relaxed from his shoulders. "Let's leave the furniture until tomorrow; it can wait."

"Okay," he agreed, forcing himself to sit up again. The room was still spinning, but it wasn't as bad, and he felt steady enough to stand now.

"You need to hunt," she murmured upon making eye contact with him and seeing black instead of the usual honey-gold colour.

"No, I don't," he protested, too nauseous to want to consider it and confused seeming as they'd fed the day before.

"You do; your eyes are dark," she argued, shaking her head at him. "We can go tonight?" Seeking reassurance, she leaned forward to kiss him lightly, smiling when he wrapped his arms around her.

He just nodded; arguing it required too much energy. "I'm okay, Esme," he murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head as she leaned against him.

.

.

Standing in the woods at dusk had never made Carlisle was vulnerable as he did right then. Every inch of him wanted to beg Esme to go back to the house. His throat was tight, and he was trying not to shake. He could hear the soft footfalls of deer just out of sight, but the birds had stopped singing as they did when a predator was near.

 _'Murderer.'_

The voice of his father was so loud that he flinched, sucking in a sharp breath. Panicking, he strained his ears again, each sound amplified. He was too scared to move.

Seeing him freeze, Esme crossed the few yards between them. She was confused for a moment, trying to figure out what he was listening to. She could hear the deer as well, but whatever had caught her husband's attention was invisible to her.

 _'Monster.'_

His voice hissed in his ears again. He instinctively reached for Esme, his breath starting to catch in his throat. "We need to go," he whispered to her, frantic.

"What's going on?" she whispered back, scanning the trees as she stood behind him. Starting to get scared now, she shuffled closer to him, wrapping her hands around one of his.

 _'I should have let you die.'_

"We need to go right now." He spun around, ushering her backwards and refusing to let her go. "It's not safe- Esme, we need to leave." His chest was tight with anxiety, and he didn't want to tear his eyes off her for fear of something happening. "Run. Please."

His anxiety terrified her, and she bolted back toward the house. She could hear him behind her and refused to look back, petrified of what she might see. The new lock on their front door jammed as she shoved the key into it, but it swung open before she had a chance to force it open.

In the time they'd been gone, the rest of the coven had arrived. Emmett had opened the door upon hearing the keys shaking in her hand, but barely had time to comprehend what was happening before Carlisle slammed it shut and locked it.

Ignoring the shocked glances his family were throwing him, Carlisle wrapped his arms around Esme, somehow out of breath and quickly becoming lightheaded. "You didn't hear that, did you?" he whispered to her, squeezing her a little tighter when she shook her head.

"Carlisle, what's going on?" Edward asked, unable to make sense of his coven leader's jumbled thoughts.

Taking a few breaths to steady himself, he slowly started to calm down again. The painful knot in his stomach wouldn't shift, but he forced himself to loosen his hold on Esme. "Nothing, it's alright," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he glanced around the room.

The bewildered stares of the family looked back, completely fixated on him, confused by his behaviour. "What happened?" he asked again, more cautiously this time. "Are you okay, Carlisle?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Everything is alright, I just- everything is fine." Without another word, he went upstairs, forcing himself to walk instead of running. He couldn't tell them. He didn't know how to tell them.


	2. Chapter 2

' _You failed me," he spat in his face. "I never asked for you, child, and you should never have been conceived, but your mother wanted a baby so badly." The man's hand hit the blond boy's cheek, his rough fingers scraping his skin. In a desperate attempt to please his father, he tried to withhold his tears, refusing to let them fall. His father saw straight through them, grabbing him by the throat and shoving him back toward the ground. "Don't you dare, Carlisle, I raised you better than this; you are weak."_

 _His hands and knees were torn to shreds as he scrambled against the gravel to get away. "Father," he pleaded through soft sobs. "Please-"_

" _Stop your groveling," he growled, kicking dirt at him as he turned away. "Your mother would have been ashamed of you."_

 _._

 _._

 **Carlisle POV**

My office rushed back into focus far too quickly. The sudden shift made my head spin, and the light filtering through the trees was glarey and too bright, making it difficult to face the window. Still, I risked a nervous peak through the glass, just to confirm everything was as it should be.

Our yard was still in order. It still didn't look much like 'our' property yet; the grass was still to grow in after the construction of our house, and Esme had just begun mapping out a plan for the gardens. For now, the whole place was just grey and muddy.

It was a few seconds longer before the sounds of my family filtered back in to the room, and even then, they sounded further away than I knew they were. I sank back in my seat, focusing on a spot on the ceiling and forcing a few deep breaths; despite not needing the oxygen, hyperventilating was making me anxious.

That awful memory might have been gone, but the sick feeling wasn't shifting. My hands were shaking so badly that I couldn't hold my pen anymore, and I accidently dropped it onto my desk instead. It landed on the wood with a wet slap. Confused, I glanced down.

The paper in front of me was soaked in blood.

I recoiled immediately out of shock, fighting the rising bile in my throat. The edges of the page irritated my palms as I screwed it up and shoved it into the trash can under my desk. Instantly, the walls seemed to shrink around me, cloying claustrophobia taking over as my father became firmly wedged in my thoughts again; moving back to my hometown was stirring up things I didn't want to remember.

My family's voices crept through the floorboards, suddenly painfully loud, and I sunk my teeth into my lip to mask my panicked breaths as they echoed around the room. It shouldn't have made me dizzy, but my vision swum and I was too lightheaded to get up and lock the door, and I really didn't want anyone up here until I could calm down

The blood left of the desk was beginning to soak into the wood, and I pressed another few sheets of paper over it in an attempt to mop it up - I couldn't think straight enough to do anything else. It was futile; blood only seeped through that as well. Each time I touched something, my hands stung, but it took some time before I was coherent enough to look down at my fingers.

 _I was bleeding. My hands were bleeding._

My vision warped again.

It didn't make sense.

Seconds before, I had been fine, and the blood hadn't been there. _Hadn't been there until I'd thought about my father._ I swallowed thickly, trying to wipe my hands clean on my jeans to examine the wounds, if there was going to be any. The rough fabric dragged and pulled, and my stomach twisted painfully as I realised what I was about to see.

The grazes were there. Just like they'd been when I was a child.

Suddenly, vomiting was a very real prospect. It wasn't possible; minor wounds didn't just bleed like this, and it was entirely _im_ possible for me to be injured like this. Besides, it had only been a few seconds, certainly not enough time for this much blood-

I glanced at the clock, and my heart sank. Fifteen minutes. It had been fifteen _minutes_ since I'd had that flash back. I was definitely going to throw up. My throat tightened and I couldn't take a breath to calm down, trying to stop myself hyperventilating before it got out of control.

Just wanting it to be gone, I tried to wipe it away with my clothing again. It was getting worse. The bleeding only accelerated, and I _really_ couldn't breathe and I couldn't think and I was so sure I was going to throw up-

Someone knocked softly on my door. I jumped, but couldn't get the words out to answer them, and just had to hope they'd leave me alone until I found a way to fix this. I couldn't, though; I couldn't touch anything without spreading the mess, but I knew the smell of it would be upsetting my family. Although it was making me nauseous, it _was_ still blood. My senses were so dull that whoever was outside of my office was too blurry to focus on, and I tried to brace myself for their entrance.

"Jesus, what happened?" Edward was in front of me suddenly, wide eyed and watching me carefully.

I didn't know what to tell him, but somehow my voice didn't shake when I answered him. "...there's a first aid kit in my car, can you get it please?"

He hesitated, unable to tear his eyes away from the blood. Eventually, he just nodded, choosing to jump through the window to get outside instead of taking the stairs. It was probably better; I knew how much it would scare Esme. He was back within a minute, quickly opening the container to find something to wrap the wounds with. In his panic, he didn't know what to hand me, glancing from me to the box and back again.

"...on the top, Edward…" I murmured to him. My fingers were tingling, and the heat leached from the room. "Did you leave the window open?" Hoping that he had, I fought back the need to shiver.

He shook his head, ripping open the packet with his teeth. "You okay?" he asked warily.

"I will be when I can clean this up." I forced a smile, but he couldn't be convinced. His doubt only solidified as I dropped what he handed me. My coordination had vanished, and I was getting progressively weaker despite not moving. I leaned my elbows against my desk to stop myself slipping.

"You're really pale, Carlisle, are you sure?" Refocusing his attention on the bleeding, he was visibly conflicted about what to do. He grabbed my hand without asking, starting to wrap it tightly.

"I'm fine." I wasn't, though, not if Edward had to endure my father as well, even if it was second-hand abuse. "I'm sorry that you had to hear that," I murmured to him, unable to glance up to meet his gaze. This conversation in itself was enough to make me want to vomit.

"For what?" he asked, distracted.

It immediately confused me that he didn't already know what I meant. He _always_ knew what _everyone_ meant, and I instinctively rolled my eyes at him. "Why did you come to see me just now?" I asked instead, wondering if he hadn't been paying enough attention to me at the time to hear it. He tried hard to avoid the invasion of privacy that mind reading created, and relief washed over me; it really wasn't something that I wanted to explain, and we'd never spoken much about that side of my past. Perhaps moving had preoccupied him enough to keep him safe from it.

He swallowed hard, his hands suddenly still and my heart sank. "Carlisle, there was a couple of minutes that I couldn't hear you...I could hear everyone except for you and Bella," he told me softly. "What happened?"

I kept my mouth shut; I didn't know what to tell him.

"Even now, you're blocking me partly." He gently squeezed my fingers, looking a little anxious now. "Are you sure you're alright?"

The ticking of the clock on the wall was deafening, and it was a strain to drag my attention off of it. "Y-yes, I'm okay." The blood was seeping through again, and I quickly finished bandaging what he hadn't done, trying to stem it. Not seeing it made me feel a little more stable, but the blood starting to congeal on the wood in front of me was still posing a big problem. It was bad enough that Edward already knew about it; he would most likely have the most logical reaction to everything, so I didn't want to know what the other's would do. "Thank you, I'm okay, now," I assured him again.

I grabbed hold of the first aid kit and dug out a pack of alcohol wipes, ignoring the obnoxious smell of it as I started to wipe everything clear. It seeped through the bandages and stung the grazes, though. Edward leaned back in his chair, hating the scent of it at well. "How _did_ you cut yourself? For all this family has been through, no one has ever bled before, Carlisle."

I shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. "...I'm really not sure, Edward," I admitted.

He sighed, disbelieving. "You don't look well."

"I'm okay," I repeated. "...just...confused, I guess."

"I'm getting Esme," he mumbled, standing up. He was out of the room before I could argue with him, and I quickly shoved the bloody tissues into the trash can, snatching the first aid kit off the desk and placing it out of sight in a draw.

There wasn't much I could do about the state of my clothing; it was dark enough to cover most of it, but not much would escape her notice. Edward may have meant well, but terrifying my wife wasn't something I was in favour was.

She came in without knocking, shutting the door behind her and leaning back against it. For the first time, I was uncomfortable with her so intently focused on me. I nervously tucked my fingers inside of my long sleeves, wanting to hide it from her. It was no use.

Esme came closer, perching on the edge of my desk and closing her fingers around my arm. "You're...what on earth happened?" She reached up to brush her thumb against my throat and across my cheek, and the pressure throbbed a little.

Without thinking, I tried to hold her wrist, so that she wouldn't touch me there. Her eyes widened upon seeing my hands, and I realised that they had bled through, though it finally seemed to be stopping. "It's alright, Esme, it's nothing that bad," I murmured, almost pleading with her not to react.

To her credit, she covered her shock well. "Is it painful, love?"

"It doesn't hurt." It didn't seem to put her at ease like I had hoped it would. I couldn't look at her anymore, too unsteady, and had to watch the floor to fight off the feeling. "I'm just not sure what happened."

She touched my face again, and I swallowed thickly as the discomfort returned. "You're bruised," she told me softly. "Someone hurt you…"

It didn't ease my confusion any. "No one has touched me. I was here the whole time." Bile rose in my throat again, and the sounds downstairs had stopped; the rest of the coven were listening to this conversation. I shifted in attempt to clear the feeling.

"Carlisle," she warned lowly, too low for them to overhear.

"I don't know," I whispered back. Fear was ebbing in, and I wanted to throw up. Instead, I threaded our fingers together, trying to calm myself down again.

"You weren't well the other day, is this the same?" Worry was overtaking her perfect features, and I would have done anything to take that away. As much as I didn't want to admit it, she was right, and I nodded slowly. She abruptly wrapped her arms around me, and I ignored the twinge of pain it caused. "Please don't start work yet. I know you want to go back, but please just wait until we're settled here…"

I pushed my chair back a bit so that I could pull her into me. Starting a new job at the local hospital was all that was keeping me sane in this god forsaken town, and the thought of putting it off further was far from appealing. It wouldn't be worth upsetting Esme, though. "Alright, love."

.

.

The next day, I was glad that I had stayed home. The house was unpacked and complete, and the others had already begun university, but everything felt far from usual. The birds were quiet in the trees, the wind was dead, and we were so far into the countryside that there were no signs of civilisation to anchor myself in reality with. It was far, _far_ too similar to the surroundings of my father's property.

Esme caught me focused on the window, her hand coming to rest on my leg as she sat on the couch next to me. "It's pretty here."

"It'll be nicer once you plant your gardens." Maybe that would destroy some of the similarity as well; his rough hands could never maintain something so beautiful. The thought of it made my stomach hurt, and I sighed under my breath. We may not have been living here long, but I was hating this place more and more with each second that passed.

She looked up at me, studying my face. "You okay?"

I fought the urge to pull the collar of my shirt closer to my neck to try and hide the marks on my throat. Just nodding, I forced myself to relax the tension in my body; it was painfully tight anyway, and Esme must have been aware of it as she leaned against my side. I wrapped my arm around her and she shuffled closer. "Of course."

It was obvious that she didn't believe me, but she left it alone, thank god. We stayed together until the others started to arrive home, and I was calmer while she was with me. Our house became noisy again, and instantly my head started to throb, and I shuffled out from under her, placing a gentle kiss on her lips when she began to look concerned again.

I went upstairs before she could comment on it. Standing up quickly returned the dizziness, and I found myself keeping my hand against the wall all the way to our room. Closing the door created a capsule from the outside, and the isolation was a relief. I locked the bathroom door and sat on the edge of the bathtub.

My hands stung was I tugged the bandages undone. Part of me didn't believe that there would be any wounds in the first place, and that I had dreamt the whole thing. They were there. The grazes were less inflamed than yesterday, healing quickly, but they were still there. The sight of the blood instantly made me nauseous, and I ran my hands under the tap to clean as much of it away as I could. It was ridiculous; I'd been a doctor for _years_ and had never had a problem, but as soon as it was my own blood, I couldn't handle it. I was a vampire, for god's sake.

One glance in the mirror, and I knew what Esme had been so fixated on all day; the bruising was a lot darker around my throat, and it did look like someone had attacked me.

None of this made sense.

It was only a memory.

* * *

 **A/N: thank you for your kind reviews. Sorry that it has been so long between updates, but I do plan on continuing this story :)**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Esme POV**

The weather was finally nice enough to work outside. The mud had dried, faint hints of new grass peeked through, and the ground was sturdy enough to stand upon without leaving shoe indentations. The sun wasn't bright enough to reflect from our skin, but warm enough to be pleasant if sat in for any length of time.

Carlisle was taking full advantage of it. He'd settled with his back against one of the large window panes in our kitchen, letting the light wash over his back and shoulders, his head resting against his knees as he sat on the floor. His breaths were slow and even, and had I not known what we were, I would have assumed him to be asleep. It was still beyond me as to why he had decided to ignore that we did own furniture.

A smile tugged at the edges of my lips as I knelt in front of him. My presence made him glance up, and I brushed my fingers through his hair to get it off his face, leaning forward to guide his lips to mine. "Come to the store with me?" I asked hopefully.

He laughed softly and reached to shift me into his lap, folding his legs under himself to make it possible. "To get what, love?" he teased.

"Plants for the yard; I think some colour against the fence line should look nice." My lips brushed his again as the warmth of his hands surrounded my waist, and I leaned my full weight against him. Something still wasn't right; his hands had healed and the grazes were gone, but Carlisle was quiet and no longer eager to start his new job. Getting him out of the house for a bit seemed like a good idea. "Will you come with me?"

A frown spread across his face before he could stop it, and he sank back against the glass again. There was a few seconds pause before he managed to answer me. "Today?" he asked slowly, stalling.

I rolled my eyes at him, smoothing the collar of his shirt with my fingertips. "Yes, today, Carlisle."

Eventually, he agreed, lifting me to my feet as he stood up. It didn't stop his reluctance to actually get in the car, though I couldn't pick what was so wrong about leaving the house.

.

.

The garden center was wonderful, and I could have spent hours wandering the isles of different flowers and pots and hedges. The plants were aesthetically arranged by colour and species, and it only fostered my love of gardening. Too soon, our cart was more than full of velvety leaves and pastel petals, though I didn't want to return home yet. "Shall we plant roses?" I was talking to myself more than Carlisle, but when I turned to find him, he wasn't paying attention anyway. "Hey…" Letting go of the cart, I let my hand rest on his chest, leaning up to kiss him.

He covered my fingers with his, startled but attempting to smile. "Roses sound nice, Esme." Roses were obviously not something he cared about right then. He seemed distracted to the point that I doubted he was actually listening to what I had said, and had only agreed out of want to leave the shop.

I pulled him closer, starting to frown. "Are you alright, love? You're not yourself today." My arms found their way around his waist, and he hugged my shoulders.

"I'm okay, just finish what you need to." Still, he held onto me a little longer than he usually would have, and it didn't escape my notice. The noise in town seemed to bother him; he was unfocused as he followed me around the store. He periodically leaned against the cart, and I hoped we weren't heading toward another dizzy episode.

I knew when enough was enough. We went to the counter together, and I felt his hand on my back as we headed to the car. He was fidgeting slightly with my shirt, I thought trying to calm himself, but I wasn't sure that he knew he was doing it. As soon as we were outside, he was fixated on the ground, refusing to take any notice of the town around us. "Please tell me what's wrong?" I pressed again. I'd waited until we were in the safety of the car to ask again, but he still looked uncomfortable.

There was a quiet minute where he silently debated his answer. The keys jingled softly as he toyed with them, but he hadn't put them in the ignition yet. All of the tension in his body was released in a soft sigh, and he turned away from me. "Let's go and plant your flowers, love. It's what we came here to do, isn't it?" Without waiting for me to answer, he started the car, peeling out of the carpark faster than appropriate and spraying up a wave of loose metal under the tyres.

My hand instinctively reached for the handle on the door to steady myself. "Carlisle!" What he had done might not have been dangerous for us, but I hadn't expected it from him at all - Emmett and Edward, maybe, but not my husband. At least the plants didn't topple over in the trunk.

He immediately looked apologetic, reaching over to find my fingers. I trapped his hand between both of mine, confused and a little bewildered. We talked a little bit as he drove, and he eventually started to calm down again, his uncomfortable fidgeting stopping. It was nice to see him smile again - genuinely for the first time since we'd moved to London - and I was starting to believe that we could be quite happy here for the next few years.

Our family had never settled in England before and the change of scenery was more than welcome. The house was set deep into the countryside; far enough away from the city for us to live freely, but close enough to London for Carlisle to be able to work, and the others to be able to study. Traditional dreary British weather was helpful too; we could come and go as we pleased for most of the year, and we could shift to Alaska during the summer when things became too bright. It was perfect, really. Made even more so by the quaint cottages and old-style barns situated in open fields. The road was well-worn, the paths brick, and the school small and behind a multi-coloured picket fence, painted by small hands. The thought of the children brought a smile to my face, a sudden pang of longing forming in the pit of my stomach.

Carlisle seemed to notice, his hold on my hand tightening slightly at the same time the feeling formed. He didn't have to say anything; we'd had that conversation over and over again, and it was something that I'd come to terms with long ago. It still didn't fully dull the sting of not having children of our own, though. Nothing ever would.

All pleasant thoughts about our new home flew out the window when the car violently accelerated. I gasped out of shock at the sudden change in speed, looking out the rear-view mirror in time to see a decrepit looking church fading in the distance. Something made me glance at Carlisle before I responded, and I was glad that I had; something was definitely wrong now and he couldn't smother it.

Tears that could never fall welled up, and sunk his teeth into his lip so deeply I was sure he would draw blood. His fingers dug into the steering wheel and his breath hitched in his throat.

Confused, I fought back the urge to hug him while he was driving. Our eyes met and he quickly glanced away again.

"...My father used to preach there...when I was a child…" he mumbled, the first explanation he'd offered me all day. "...in that church…" It obviously hurt him.

Immediately, I was trying to figure out how we might restore the crumbling building; it must have been something that the town wanted to preserve, and no doubt the funds to do so would be more than welcome. "Do you want to fix it, Carlisle? I'm sure that if we asked whoever owns the property, they'd be grateful if we were to rebuild it." Sneaking my hand onto his thigh, I gently squeezed his leg.

"N-no," he corrected quickly. "...It wasn't a nice place." He looked like he might want to be sick, and the car didn't slow any. "...I didn't think it would still be there, to be honest...it was so long ago."

Long ago, yet still causing a strong gut reaction. By the time we got into our driveway, his hands were trembling, and he would have been in tears if he could have been. "Carlisle…"

"Let's just plant the flowers?" He was practically pleading with me, and I just nodded. He ignored me watching him and started setting out the plant punnets against the fence how I'd described it in the store - apparently he had been listening after all. It took a while before I got my legs to work as I thought about what might have happened to upset him so much; the wounds seemed to be too fresh for someone who was missing their long-passed father, and I knew he was withholding the real reason from me.

I got the tools we needed from the shed, beginning to set them in the ground, stealing glances at him the whole time. His anxiety didn't seem to be calming any as time passed. Even when the task was done and we were back inside, he hadn't shaken the feeling.

.

.

 _The good pastor frowned as his son struggled not to fall asleep. The boy was almost ten years old; he knew better than to sleep during his sermons. He gritted his teeth, resigned to waiting until the church cleared out before reprimanding him - the town's people would never understand the degree at which it took for him to keep the boy in line. Words would do no good in this case._

 _Carlisle was so tired it was painful. He forced himself to focus on his father, picking at his fingers in hope that the small pain might keep him awake a little longer. It had been days since the last time he'd slept more than a few minutes at a time, too terrified of his father to want to be unconscious for any length of time. From the way that the man's brow furrowed as he looked down at him, he knew there was going to be trouble despite his efforts to be good. Nothing he ever did would please the man._

 _The man's footsteps thumped down the steps of the altar as the people filed out, not stopping until he was directly in front of his son. The boy's legs swung freely from the pew, not quite tall enough for his feet to reach the floor while he was sitting. "Carlisle."_

 _The word send shivers down the boy's spine, and he bit his lip. "Yes, father?" His voice trembled and he kept his head down._

" _Look at me when I am speaking to you." Gripping his chin, he jerked his head up, well aware of the ache it created in his son's neck. "Do I bore you, child?" he spat in his face. "I raised you to be a son of god, yet you show no interest in his work!" His voice echoed around the stone walls._

 _Carlisle knew that tears were useless, but his eyes still burned. "N-no-"_

 _A sigh hissed through his teeth. His hand released, and his son fell back hard into his seat. "What did I ever do to deserve being cursed with you?" he grumbled. "You do nothing but burden me."_

 _He didn't know what response his father wanted, so he stayed quiet. It only made it worse, and the man gave him a hard shove, pushing him from the seat and onto the floor. The speed of it made his head spin, and his stomach contents rose in his throat._

 _The pastor removed his belt, coiling it around his hand as he glared down at his son. He didn't bother asking Carlisle to remove his clothing, not while so close to town. The buckle still dug in to the child's thighs as he delivered a hard blow against him._

 _The tears he'd tried so hard to avoid overflowed as his skin burned. He instinctively curled up to protect himself, tasting blood as the belt landed across his shoulders. Between the pain and the exhaustion, he wasn't sure he could move again, but his father didn't stop. His voice counted each blow aloud, but Carlisle didn't know what amount they would reach today. He could feel his clothing tearing, the sting becoming sharper as the metal hit bare skin._

 _The heavy doors to the church opened, and the woman's sharp intake of breath disturbed the pastor. Corporate punishment was usual in the town, but not to the extent of this. The child cried quietly, blood welling in the lacerations across his spine - most parents would have stopped by now, knowing the point had gotten across. "Pastor Cullen…" she asked softly. She'd wanted to ask for a blessing for her own son, but the mess of a child on the floor made her not so sure that she would get it._

 _He looked over at her, away from his boy, and saw the disapproval on her face. "This is necessary; he refuses to learn, refuses to hear the lord's work."_

 _The woman just nodded, diverting her attention away from the child. "Of course."_

 _._

 _._

Carlisle shuddered suddenly, his shoulders stiffening. I was in the kitchen when it happened, but I heard his phone fall from his hand, and the screen shatter when it hit the floor as he failed to catch it. He still didn't move, completely frozen in place.

It immediately set alarm bells ringing for me. He didn't seem to register me standing in front of him. His breaths started to catch until he was hyperventilating and shaking, unmistakable fear on his face. "Are you okay?" I asked for the millionth time that day. My knuckles gently brushed his jaw as I held his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. "Carlisle?"

It was enough to jerk him back into reality. His eyes met mine and he flinched back out of shock. "W-what?" He took a step backwards, quickly glancing around the room as if he was trying to make sense of his surroundings. It didn't help him calm down. What should have been a semi-familiar environment by now seemed to make him anxious, and he continued stumbling backwards until he hit the wall, defensive as he ran his hands over the wallpaper. "It he here?" he asked me.

I just shook my head; with no reference, I had no idea what he was nervous about, and we had been the only two home all day. "The others have been gone since this morning," I reminded him. "Are you alright, though? What on earth happened?" I crossed over to him, closing my fingers around his wrists.

Whatever was allowing him to stay calm was quickly dissolving. Pure panic was creeping in now. "I-I don't like living here..." The words tumbled out before he wanted them to, shaking and unable to breathe, wincing whenever I touched him. He wrapped his arms around me as I stepped closer. "It doesn't feel right being back here…"

I frowned without wanting too. "You haven't started work, yet, perhaps that might help you settle?" His silence didn't comfort me, and I wondered if this was what a panic attack looked like. "This is about that church?" I guessed, squeezing him to keep his attention on me.

It only made it worse. He tensed, pulling away from me as though I'd shocked him. "...When we decided to move here, I thought it would be easier than this. None of this should matter after three hundred years, but it's so familiar that I feel like I never left, and I thought the memories were gone because I had blocked them for so long...they aren't, and they're so real…" Nervous, he couldn't take a deep breath no matter how hard he tried, and it was only making things more difficult for him.

My heart twinged. I wasn't used to my husband being so worked up. "Carlisle...you miss your father?" I asked softly. The question made him groan quietly, and he leaned his forehead against my shoulder, his arms finding their way around my waist as he pulled me closer.

"He was never a good man, Esme," he mumbled. His voice shook and he finally gave in to my comfort, shoulders relaxing and his fingers sneaking under the edge of my shirt against my waist.

"But you still miss him, love?" I tightened my hold on him, squeezing a little tighter. My arms against his back had him shifting uncomfortably, pain flashing across his face as he immediately glanced up at me.

He ignored it, sinking his teeth into his lip until the discomfort passed. "Theoretically, he deserved whatever became of him." That didn't stop the thought of it upsetting him. Tears welled up again as he fought back a wave of anxiety, and he pulled away completely, starting to hold his breath and pace the length of the room. "For all the support that he got from the town, not a single person came to his burial. They left him to rot in his own home, a-and no one cared- he might not have been a nice person, but that shouldn't have happened- he never wanted me but I still don't want him to have died like that- it's too close- the house is too close to-" Whatever was happening before was not a panic attack. _This_ was a panic attack. Dragging his fingers through his hair, he could barely make enough sense to speak to me. "I can't do this- it's all I can think about and I can't start at the hospital if I can't focus-"

I cut off his rambling, kissing him gently and leaving my hands on his shoulders to keep him still. "Stop, sweetheart, don't do this." Hurt. That was all I could see on his face. My vision blurred as tears crept in. "You can't be thinking like that, Carlisle, please…" He didn't want me to, but I hugged him anyway, holding him until he relaxed again. "Please don't…"

He sucked in a sharp breath. "...You've made such a beautiful home here, and I don't want to ruin that, Esme, but I just…I-I…"

Before I could answer him, the voices of the rest of the coven edged into the house as they arrived home. That would be the end of this conversation; Carlisle wouldn't want to talk about this with them in ear shot. He bolted before I could stop him. That was new too - he'd never fled from our family before and it was breaking my heart.

Edward caught my expression as he came in, immediately concerned. "What happened? Where's Carlisle?"

"He just needs time out," I murmured. There wasn't any point in lying to Edward, so I didn't know why I tried it.

He obviously didn't believe it. "He won't talk to you about whatever's going on either?"

I shook my head, though he might have if we'd been able to keep the afternoon to ourselves. _'Please don't push him, Edward,'_ I silently pleaded. The last thing I wanted was for him to be shoved further away.

"I won't, Esme," he assured me. His forehead still creased with worry the more he thought about it. We looked at each other for a moment before I couldn't stand it any longer.

It was easy to locate Carlisle, though he wasn't where I expected him to be. The loose coating of gravel on the roofing tiles slid under my shoes as I pulled myself up next to him. It wasn't at all graceful - I misjudged the edge of the gutter and would have fallen back had my husband not shuffled forward to wrap his arms around me. His quiet laughter was making me giggle.

It would be getting dark soon, but for now the last rays of sunlight were filtering through the trees. Carlisle pressed a kiss against the base of my neck as he shifted me back into his lap, another against my cheek and along my jaw until our lips met. "The garden looks good from up here," he teased, smiling when I did. It didn't quite reach his eyes but I was pleased to see it all the same.

"I knew it would," I teased back, twisting against his hold on me to hug him. He _was_ right though; the roses were bright against the otherwise dull garden, and their presence drew away from the grass that hadn't quite grown in yet. The scenery still hadn't calmed him any, though perhaps the fresh air had. The way he wrapped himself around me seemed more for security, with far too much urgency for it to casual. "Are you alright though, my love?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, Esme. Today was...difficult…" he admitted, squeezing me a little.

"You have nothing to apologise for. If you can't…" The words weren't right and I started again. "If this place isn't right for you, then we can move again." I brushed my fingers through his hair, smiling as it led to another careful kiss.

Carlisle sighed. "I can't uproot our family just because I can't handle my own emotions...That isn't fair…"

"What's not fair, sweetheart, is living somewhere that makes you unhappy," I reminded him. "We can move...just you and me if we have to, it won't be the end of the world."

He still shook his head. Anxiety started to creep in again and his teeth sunk into his lip. "I love you." His arms tightened around me as he leaned his forehead against my shoulder. "I'm really sorry; I don't want to uproot us again. I know how much this place means to you," he mumbled. His voice was muffled by my clothing but it still trembled.

"You mean far more to me, Carlisle, I love you more than anything." We fell quiet again, his arms still locked around my waist and my hands teasing the back of his neck. This was going to be a first for the entire family; Carlisle had always been strong for us and never complain about anything - no one was going to deal well with him being this unsettled, and he knew it. "Will you be going to work tomorrow?"

There was a long pause before he nodded. "I think it will help."


	4. Chapter 4

**I promise I haven't abandoned this story, I've just been super busy. The next chapter is already half finished so it should be up within a week all going well!**

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 **Carlisle POV**

The cold air made my breath visible as I stepped out of my car. It sent another wave of panic through my body - I hadn't been warm enough for that to happen in over 300 years, and today really wasn't a good day for that to change. Starting a new job was supposed to be exciting, and it had been years since I had been able to work in a hospital as advanced as this one, but I was filled with dread instead.

The imposing shadow that the building cast made the car park freezing, and I slipped on the frozen puddles when I wasn't paying attention. Today was already off to a rough start. And I was almost late.

I was still hesitant to head into the building, even if the weather was uncomfortably cold and time was ticking away. It wasn't until the woman behind the front desk jumped violently in her seat, that I realised I'd unintentionally crept up on her - I'd have to watch myself for the rest of the day; even after all this time, it was hard to keep up the human facade while I was this nervous.

The woman still managed to smile once she recovered from my sudden materialisation in front of her. "You're the new employee, right?," she said after a moment. "Carlisle?" It didn't make me feel any better that she already knew my name; being the topic of any kind of discussion wasn't something that I wanted.

I nodded, swallowing thickly and hoping my voice wouldn't shake when I spoke to her. "Sorry I'm late."

She let out a motherly chuckle and glanced at her watch, and I immediately decided I liked her. "You're right on time, actually. I'll show you to your manager's office." Pushing her chair back on it's wheels, she got to her feet, heading toward crowded corridor. It was more than I deserved, really.

"Thank you." Perhaps I looked as lost as I felt and that was why she was so kind. I answered her questions while she led me upstairs, studying her as I walked slightly behind her.

She must have been well into her sixties - once brown hair now grown out and silver, pulled back into a long plait, and deep lines around her eyes suggesting a lifetime of smiles. She was still smiling now, despite my stuttering and evasive answers. "I'm Carol," she told me eventually, laughing to herself over the forgotten introduction. "You've probably already met, but Vickie runs everything here; you'll be answering to her, most likely. She's married to the CEO of the hospital - keep out of her way, and you'll be fine."

I'd heard that name before, but wasn't sure I'd met the woman. My interview had been brief and with a couple of men, not with her. "That sounds ominous," I teased her, unable to help a nervous smile.

Carol just grinned. "There's nothing like being fed to the wolves on your first day."

.

.

" _You're_ the new doctor?" Vickie wrinkled her nose like she too could smell the peroxide fumes radiating from her unnaturally white hair. Or maybe she'd stabbed herself with those ridiculously long talons on the tips of her fingers. Everything about the woman screamed 'fake'. Usually, I wouldn't have been shallow enough to care, but something about her was instantly toxic, and I wasn't sure that it was just her appearance. "You're old enough to have made it through med school? How are _you_ a surgeon?"

I barely resisted rolling my eyes; of all the things that were unusual in London, this reaction was the same everywhere. Her high-pitched whine was making my head hurt though, and her perfume was suffocating. It was uncomfortably warm in her office, and the walls felt too close in the heat, yet somehow she wasn't sweating. "You have a copy of my medical license," I reminded her, keeping my voice soft as she glared at the paper in her hand.

"It appears I do." She narrowed her eyes. Her heels clicked across the floor as she went back to her desk, dragging open a draw and throwing a set of swipe cards in my direction. Her instant dislike of me was amusing if nothing else, and I hide a smile as I leaned down to pick them up off the floor. "Come. I guess you're my responsibility for the day." Without waiting, she stalked out into the corridor.

Everything went relatively well until lunch time. Vickie showed me around the wards and reluctantly introduced me to the other employees, and I kept myself out of the way as much as possible. It was far busier than it had been in Forks, but it wouldn't be overwhelming. I'd be part of the general-surgical team, not in the ER which was a welcome change. The patient loads were larger, but manageable, and the specialist units were state-of-the-art as opposed to half-hearted. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all.

Out of nowhere, my vision started to get blurry again, and the headache returned full force. The room warped sideways and I lost my footing, stumbling into the wall and leaning against it while I tried to catch my breath. I knew I was in trouble now; Vickie hadn't noticed yet, but I was struggling to right myself before she did. My ears were ringing, the dizziness making it difficult to stay upright.

The scent of the incoming patient lunches wafted down the halls from the kitchen. Food never smelt this awful back in Forks, I was sure, but the cloying odor could have melted the paint from the walls. No one else reacted though. The wheels on the meal cart creaked as they approached, and I tried to ignore the instant pain the sound created. The noise, coupled with the smell, turned my stomach.

Starting to get panicky, all the exits seemed to grow in distance. My limbs felt shaky as I followed the woman from room to room as she continued to show me where things were. We reached the end of the corridor, and she turned on her heel to face me. "Any questions, Carlisle?" Her tone was bored; she'd had enough of me blindly following her. She also pronounced my name oddly, and there was no way it wasn't intentional.

I didn't correct her; it wasn't worth the effort. Besides, the room was spinning so violently I just needed to be away from her. Her office door closed in my face as I shook my head, sending a wave of foul smelling air over me. I held my breath. It may not have been appropriate to do that at work, but I was fighting gagging.

I barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up. The tiling on the floor was slightly uneven, but I didn't notice that until I'd tripped myself and it was too late. The all too familiar burn of grazes on my hands and knees seconds after I fell, but it was hardly noticeable over the nausea. It was only my vision swarmed with stars that I realised I'd hit my head on the wall as well.

Food that I'd never eaten came rushing up my throat, and I struggled to remember if I'd locked the bathroom door or not as I was sick. My stomach cramped, and I leaned my cheek against my arm as I squeezed my eyes shut, needing the room to stop spinning just for a second.

.

.

 _His father loomed over him, rough fingers digging into his scalp as he dragged him by the hair onto the back porch. "You do not take food without my permission," he hissed in his ear, his foul breath almost enough to turn the boy's stomach on it's own._

 _Carlisle had known it had been a bad idea. He'd known that taking the scraps from the plates as he cleared the table had been wrong. But God knows when father would have deemed it time for him to eat again, and the starvation left him exhausted. His cheeks stung with the humiliation of being scolded as he was forced onto his knees._

 _The pastor's fingers were rough as he shoved the down his son's throat. He roared in rage as Carlisle instinctively sunk his teeth into his flesh, blood pooling in the young boy's mouth. The man's hand came down against the back of his head, spitting threats as the child vomited again and again._

 _He couldn't stop the soft sobs that shook his shoulders, no matter how much it angered his father. "Dad-" he pleaded once he was allowed to take a breath. "Please, dad, I-"_

" _Be quiet; you will disturb the neighbours." He released his hold on his son, not bothering to look as he fell to the ground._

.

.

It took far too long for the harshly-white walls of the bathroom to come back into focus. Bile clawed at my throat, and I fought off another cough, knowing it would bring up the rest of whatever was in my stomach if I let it happen. Out of breath, I leaned back against the wall, hugging my knees and barely holding back tears. This can't have happened at work. The _could not_ be happening at work.

My legs were still unsteady as I got to my feet ten minutes later. It turned out that I had remembered to lock the door - thank god. Keeping one hand firmly on the wall, I slowly made my way toward the staff kitchen. The only thing I could think to do was to drink something, though the thought was quite unappealing.

My hands shook so badly that I almost dropped the paper cup as I tried to get water from the cooler. The room started to dim, and I knew I was about to pass out again. I leaned back against the bench for forced myself to breathe. _Not in public._ The sharp click of women's heels snapped down the hallways, the abrupt sound pounding through my head. Taking another sip of water, I waited to be berated by Vickie; there was no way she was going to let me get away with not working, if she was as bad as I'd been told.

"How's your first day going?" It was Carol's voice.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "It's fine," I lied. My voice didn't sound right, but I didn't think she'd notice, seeming as we'd only met a few hours before.

She chuckled, her smile never dampened. "As long as Vickie hasn't sent you running yet. This place needs a doctor like you; the rest of them are pretty stuck in their ways." The fridge door swung open as she ratted through it, her lunch box hitting the bench with a crack a second later.

It was getting more and more difficult to keep a smile on my face. "You make her sound like a monster," I tried to teased her, my smile a little more genuine as she rolled her eyes at me.

Carol shoved a spoonful of yogurt between her lips, and pointed at me with her spoon. "You just wait, Carlisle, she'll be on your ass soon enough." Thankfully, she headed back toward the front desk, leaving me standing alone again. I bolted; I would puke if I stayed there a second longer.

The door banged a little harder than I meant it too as I closed it in a hurry. The empty-but-soon-to-be-mine office created a bubble from the outside, and I fell into the chair at the desk. Folding my arms against the table, I put my head down and forced a couple of deep breaths. Swallowing didn't disperse the need to vomit, and bile rose in my throat again. In my hurry to get away from everyone, I'd forgotten to get water, surrendering any chance of soothing the churning in my stomach. Instead, I tried not to move and hoped the coolness of the wood from the desk against my forehead might ease the pain there. Two more hours and I could go home. I just had to hope no one needed my attention before then, because I wasn't sure that I could stand up.

It wasn't until a gentle hand landed on my back that I realised I'd zoned out enough for half an hour to pass. My pager was beeping insistently, but the person behind me reached around to silence it, squeezing my shoulder. I waited to be scolded for not doing my job properly, barely resisting groaning. Instead, they put a cold glass next to me and moved to perch on the edge of the desk. "You okay, Carlisle?" they asked softly.

My thoughts were foggy, but I could still make enough sense to recognise Edward's voice. Relief washed over me. "What are you doing here?" I mumbled. Confusion didn't stop the relief his presence brought.

"I'm checking on you; Alice said you were having a rough day," he told me bluntly. "Go home, if you're feeling awful; your manager will understand."

I couldn't think properly. My head was hurting and trying to keep track of the conversation was making it worse. "I can't screw up when I've barely started," I tried to argue. I'd _already_ screwed up.

Faint irritation briefly flashed across his face. "Well, you can't stay here, either." My chair shoved backwards as he pushed it out with his foot, and the room warped sideways, everything blurring slightly. Hearing my panicked thoughts, he rolled his eyes. "Exactly my point; come home, Carlisle. It's not like you're missing much if you're just going to stay here anyway."

He was right. The hot-cold feeling was coming back, and the lightheadedness was getting worse. Nodding, I carefully got to my feet. Everything immediately spun and I grabbed the desk to steady myself, almost losing my balance.

Edward stole my keys from my pocket without asking. "And I'm driving."

That was probably best too; I would only end up hurting someone. I just nodded in response, needing to focus all of my attention on getting to my supervisor. Her disappointment wasn't something that I wanted to face, but I was out of options.

.

.

Being in the car was making everything worse. My whole body was aching uncontrollably, and the idling of the vehicle as we waited at a traffic light was making the nausea unbearable. We were still in the middle of town, and I knew that I couldn't throw up here, but it was becoming a very real possibility. My mouth welled with spit, and I leaned forward against my knees, wrapping one arm around my stomach.

The abrupt acceleration of the car slammed me back into my seat as we shot away from the intersection. Finally, we were heading out into the country again, away from everyone else. I cursed myself for not being stabled enough to run the rest of the way home - I'd never suffered from motion sickness before, but I was fairly sure that this was what it was. "Are the others at home already?" I asked to distract myself.

"Not for a few more hours." He glanced away from the road to look at me. "Are you alright?" His hand was on my arm, squeezing to get me to focus on him. "Carlisle?"

"I really don't feel well," I admitted, hating that my voice shook. Talking made bile rise in my throat, and swallowing didn't do much to stop it.

"From driving?" he frowned. "Do you want to stop for a bit?"

"I just want to go home…" Practically pleading, I didn't know what to do. My face felt hot, but I knew I was shivering, and I couldn't suppress it no matter how hard I tried.

"What's happening with you? First your hands bled, and now you're ill?" It was almost a grumble.

"I don't know, Edward; I can't think about that right now," I warned. I could barely make any coherent thoughts at all, really. My stomach cramped painfully, and I was panicking, my hand shaking as I pressed it over my mouth to try and keep from throwing up a little longer.

Sighing, he abruptly pulled over against the side of the road. My seatbelt released around me as he turned to face me, his hand on my shoulder now. "We could walk the rest of the way?" he suggested softly.

"...I can't…"

"You're dizzy?"

"...Yeah…" I hated how unsure I sounded. Black spots swarmed my vision as my fingertips tingled. The blurring of the scenery around us was turning my stomach, and if it hadn't have been so cold, I would have shoved open to door to get some fresh air. Instead, I tried to suppress my shivering and squeezed my eyes shut, folding my arms against my knees and leaning forward.

"Carlisle…" There was more to Edward's sentence, but the ringing in my ears drowned it out. The vehicle lurched forward, the movement too fast for me to keep up with. The sound must have been there, but I couldn't hear the tyres against the asphalt, the only noise being a high pitched whine and a dull throbbing.

.

.

I couldn't remember the drive home. I couldn't remember walking up the front steps of our house, or opening the front door. I couldn't remember going inside, but suddenly I was sitting at the kitchen table, and Esme was crouched in front of me, desperately trying to get me to focus.

"Carlisle," she murmured, her hands brushing my face.

"What happened?" I asked. My own voice was too loud and made my head hurt. A lump lodged firmly in my throat, and I locked my arms around Esme to pulled her closer.

"You tell me, sweetheart; I don't know." She pressed a kiss against my cheek as I leaned my forehead against her shoulder. If nothing else, being close to her made everything a little less awful. "Did your first day not go well?"

"...I guess not…" I mumbled into her. Everything was shaking, and it took me a moment to realise that it was _me_ trembling and not anything else. "Where is everyone else?"

"They're upstairs." She lowered her voice, her tone soft and gentle as she frowned. "Edward said you were sick?"

Words caught in my throat and turned my stomach. I was going to pass out again. And I was terrifying my wife. Trying to breathe made throwing up a very real possibility, and the shaking was becoming consuming.

Esme's hands remained on my shoulders as she got to her feet, holding me steady as I tried to get a grip. "You don't have a fever...can vampires even have fevers? This doesn't make sense, Carlisle." Her fingers anxiously smoothed the collar of my shirt as an excuse to touch me.

The last thing I wanted to do was to upset her, and that was where this was headed. "Esme…" Suddenly I was at a loss for how to talk to her. I wanted her in my arms again, but I knew I'd faint if I stood to hug her.

"I know this move has been hard on you; I'm sorry we didn't really talk this through before we came here." The hurt in her voice was killing me.

My vision was starting to cloud over as I hyperventilated, my thoughts refusing to straighten enough to hold a proper conversation. "That isn't your fault; I wouldn't have spoken about it anyway," I reminded her.

She chuckled but the tension remained in her shoulders. Still, whatever she was about to say was abruptly interrupted as my stomach flipped. I ripped away from her, ignoring everything spinning and praying that I'd get to the kitchen sink before I was sick.

"We can't stay here if it makes you this anxious, love, regardless of how long we've been here."


	5. Chapter 5

**So it's been forever since I updated this story, but I promise it's not forgotten! Some of the chapters are pre-written already, so it shouldn't take me as long to update from now on, but who knows. I don't know if anyone's still interested since it's been 7ish months since the last chapter, but hey.**

 **Also I don't have a beta at the moment, so if I find any major mistakes next time I read over this, I'll come back and fix them.**

 **Just a reminder that the parts written in** _ **italics**_ **are the flashbacks.**

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 **Esme POV**

Despite the week that had passed since the first incident, Carlisle still wasn't feeling better. Being a new employee wasn't serving him well either; he wasn't able to take the sick days he desperately needed for the first time in his career. Having to go to work was making it hard for him to cope, though the only way I'd found out about that was from the hushed whispers of Edward and Jasper - my husband wasn't about to tell me. His unhappiness was making the entire coven short tempered, everyone on edge as we contemplated having to move. Rebuilding would be a nightmare.

The first day of Carlisle's weekend fell on a Tuesday. That in itself was somewhat of a blessing; the constant buzz of activity had left the house that morning when the others had gone to their various classes, leaving only the two of us home. I'd spent the majority of the day arranging the office, listening to the sound of the birds outside. Their song wasn't dampened by the rain, somehow seeming clearer through the groggy weather. That wasn't what my husband was noticing, though.

.

.

 _People slowly filtered into the church, plates of baked goods and roasted meats in their arms. The choir's hyems filled the room while the food built up on the tables. The christmas luncheon was something the entire township looked forward to, a happy occasion for all. Children raced up and down the aisles, weaving in and out of table legs and dodging pews, giggles escaping at the half-hearted scouldings of the elders._

 _Carlisle was nervous. His father had made it very clear that the other children would never accept him, and this was only proven to him as they rushed past him without another glance. He didn't care about that. Not really, so long as he was left alone. But his heart beat faster each time an adult threw a glance in his direction, despite their gazes passing right through him. He wouldn't be allowed to have any of the treats on the table, and he lingered by the door in the hope that the scent of the food wouldn't affect him. His stomach growled in protest anyway._

 _It had been_ so _long since he'd had a proper meal that the child was light-headed with hunger. The rest of the guests filled their plates high with different meats and boiled vegetables, sticky buns fruit pies, all of which made the boy's mouth water. He sat down on the church stairs, hugging his knees and listening to the chatter inside. It seemed like hours before families began to filter out, their knees knocking against him as he scrambled to get out of the way. He ran back inside to wait for his father to be ready to take him home._

 _A sigh hissed between pastor Cullen's teeth as he laid eyes upon his son. "Clean this up, Carlisle. You may walk home afterwards." He stormed from the church without another word._

 _Carlisle looked at the mess of left over food and used dishes across the table, knowing it would take him well until dark to finish the chore. He sat himself at the table, knowing he shouldn't but unable to help himself after starving for so long._

 _The meat had an odd flavour. Slightly sour, despite the over-done herbs. Still, he was so hungry, he forced it down - perhaps it had been so long since he'd eaten it that he'd forgotten what it was supposed to be like. He ate and ate until his stomach ached and he felt a little ill._

 _Barely a few hours later, Carlisle was beyond uncomfortable. Waves of nausea washed over him and his mouth welled with spit. Not wanting to anger his father, he sat quietly on the porch steps, forcing deep breaths and trying to fight off the cramps in his middle. This must have been his punishment for stealing; food poisoning would be enough to deter anyone._

.

.

"Esme." His voice was quiet and unsure, and he leaned his shoulder against the door frame as I glanced back at him. I hadn't seen him for a couple of hours, and he looked terrible, for the lack of a better word, pale and uneasy. The shelf I was trying to hang knocked against the wall while my attention was diverted, making him frown and turning his focus to it. "Do you need help, love?"

"What's wrong, Carlisle?" I asked. Judging by the look on his face, he hadn't come to intervene in my poor construction skills. I stepped down off of the ladder, setting the wooden panel down in my place. My question had made him shift uncomfortably, his gaze shifting to the floor as I got within arms reach of him. "I think this is more than a cold - if it is possible for you to get even that." That had been what we thought was wrong at first, but it seemed inaccurate now.

He caught my hand as I reached up to hold it against his face, taking a step back. "I don't know if you should be close to me; I think I have a stomach flu or something, and I don't want you to catch it," he told me quickly. Normally, Carlisle was quite calm, but that sentence came out in a rush and certainly didn't reflect years upon years of medical experience - he was panicking.

"I'm not the one running a fever, sweetheart," I gently reminded him. "If whatever is wrong is contagious, I've already been exposed to it; I've been with you all morning." This time I forced him into a hug, ignoring his silent protest until he gave in to the affection. "Are you getting worse?"

"I keep throwing up, but I haven't fed in days; there shouldn't be anything in my stomach," he mumbled after a long pause. Once he released that I wasn't about to let him go, he leaned his head against my shoulder, sighing softly. "I don't know what's wrong with me." The words came out as a whisper, as though he didn't want to tell me, and I tightened my arms around him. "Are you sure don't want help?"

"No, I want you to rest, if you're not feeling well," I told him, trying not to scold him; it wouldn't help if he was already feeling this awkward about it. I nudged him toward the couch against the wall, and he followed my gaze with a frown. "Sit; we don't need a repeat of you passing out."

He apparently felt terrible enough to listen to me, doing what I had said and leaning forward against his knees to watch me. "Your shelf is still crooked." He offered me a half-hearted smile as our eyes met, teasing. One end of the piece of wood had slid down the wall while my attention was turned, unbalancing it.

Holding back a laugh, I climbed the few steps back up the ladder, hyper aware of aligning everything perfectly. It would drive us both up the wall if I secured it wrongly. I also knew that Carlisle would fix it later without telling me. "Are you in pain, Carlisle?" While I was turned away, his smile fell quickly and he had started to bite his lip, unaware that I still watched him from the corner of my eye.

"Just uncomfortable," he mumbled back.

A little frustrated by his reluctance to tell me what was happening, I took a shot in the dark. "Is the house still bothering you?"

He hesitated for so long that I was sure he wasn't about to answer me, and I glanced at him again to make sure that he was still conscious. "It's my father, Esme, being here reminds me of him, and I keep having these flashbacks, and it's whenever that happens that I get sick," he explained softly.

Sighing, I went over to him, sitting on the couch beside him and trying to figure out when he'd become so anxious. "Memories aren't going to make you ill, love," I reminded him. "Perhaps you're just stressed? Moving over here hasn't been pleasant, and building this house hadn't gone smoothly." We'd had setback after setback, and it had taken months longer that it should have to move into our new home - it wasn't as though Carlisle had wanted to come to London in the first place. We'd only come to England because we'd never lived here before.

For a moment, I was sure he was going to come apart, but he forced himself to swallow instead. The peace lasted for barely a second before he bolted, the bathroom door slamming. His fast movement had started me, and I sat in shock for a second before I could gather my thoughts to help him. It was over by the time I traced him. Sitting on the bathroom floor, he leaned against the wall, resting his head on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "I didn't swallow any of this," he mumbled, starting to shiver a little. His stomach lurched and he held the back of his fingers against his lips.

"What do you mean, love?" I asked. I ignored the wave of tension that rushed through his body as I knelt next to him, close my fingers around his free hand. "Will you hunt tonight? Perhaps you'll feel better once you've fed." It was beyond me how he was still managing to throw up, but forcing his body to do something it wasn't designed to do anymore must have been where the pain came from.

"I mean...I haven't had anything that can make me sick...I had a virus like this when I was a child, and all this didn't start until I had the flashback about it before, and it's the same feeling-" He was shaking rather violently, and I wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about anymore.

"A memory isn't going to make you unwell like this," I repeated. My reassurances only seemed to wind him up more, and I didn't know what to do with him as his anxiety built up again.

"I know, but it was the same with my hands- when I bled the other night, it was after my father hurt me and the injuries were exactly the same- I don't know what's happening…"

"Are you going to be sick again?" I asked, changing the topic; we weren't going to get anywhere while he was so blatantly panicking.

"Not right now," he told me softly.

"Come and sit with me downstairs for a while, then." Everything else could wait; for once in their lives, I wasn't about to mother the rest of the coven - they could sort themselves out, if they hated the furniture being askew so badly.

.

.

We'd never really been the type to sit in front of the TV all day. Guilt ebbed in as I realised how much I liked having Carlisle like this, though the experience would have been far sweeter if he wasn't feeling terrible. Sitting on the couch together, his arms remained locked around me, not so much squeezing as just holding me there. I knew he wasn't actually watching the movie, and this was only confirmed when he leaned forward, resting his forehead against my shoulder.

"Are you alright?" I asked softly. I leaned back, shifting to face him and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. I found myself frowning; he really didn't look well, pale and worn out. When he didn't immediately reply, I pushed him back against the cushions, forcing him to lie down.

He hugged me a little tighter. "My head hurts." It was the first open complaint he'd gotten out all week; he'd barely spoken all day. It only lasted a second before he rolled his eyes at himself, offering a half-hearted smile. "God, what have I got to whine about, really."

"You've hardly been 'whining', Carlisle," I murmured. "I'd rather you did tell me what was wrong, than stay so quiet all the time." Frowning, I held the back of my hand against his forehead, sighing at the faint heat beneath his skin. "I think your fever is getting worse," I sighed. My worry was only growing; it hadn't been so bad when he'd been reassuring me that he was okay, but he'd given up on that after he couldn't hide it anymore.

"I feel so cold," he admitted. His hesitancy to own up to not feeling well didn't escape my notice, but he was a little more open about it when we were alone.

The fabric of his sweatshirt was soft as I tugged it closer around him, and I leaned forward to gently bring our lips together. "Perhaps we could use our fireplace for something more than just decor." My eyes wandered to the grand marble hearth in the wall across from us. When I'd sketched it into the blueprint, it had been purely for aesthetic purposes, of course, but it was still built to be fully functional. Live flames might even be comforting.

I pulled away from Carlisle and headed across the room. We kept a small stack of pre-cut wood against the wall next to it, already nicely dried and ready for burning, though it too had previously only been for appearance and not for use. The logs rolled a little as I pulled a few free to put in the firebed. I dug out a box of matches, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of it as I struck one. A second later, the fireplace roared to life.

My smile faded as I turned back to my husband. In the time my attention had been diverted, a flush had risen in his cheeks, and he'd started to shiver a little more, visibly uncomfortable. I trapped one of his hands in both of mine as I sat next to him again, squeezing his fingers. "You're getting worse?"

He pulled me into his lap again, his hold on me firmer this time. "I'm okay." The way he anxiously bit his lip suggested that was a complete lie, as did the tension in his body. He suddenly seemed to regret getting me so close, ducking his head to avoid eye contact and unexplainably shy.

"Carlisle, what's going on?" I pressed. This was new territory - him withholding information from me. "Hey…" My fingers grazed his cheek as I gently tilted his chin up to force him to look at me. The intimacy made his shift uncomfortably, and that was enough for me to know that he really wasn't himself. "Shall we hunt tonight? You still need to feed," I reminded him. "I know you said you didn't want to, but it's been so long."

There was a long pause between us. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall was amplified while I waited for him to respond, and he seemed to be choking on his own words. Eventually, he glanced up, shifting uncomfortably before he answered me. "Can't we just stay here?" he asked softly.

"You must be thirsty, though?" I let my thumb brush across his throat as I cupped my hand against his cheek, confused by how dark his eyes were. "Your throat must be burning, love, and you need to feed before you go back to work."

He swallowed thickly, suddenly aware of the prickly sensation. "I know, but I'll be okay for another week." When I didn't respond, he reluctantly continued. His fingers trailed up my arms, his hands covering my shoulders and slowly shifting my body into his. "I don't feel that well, and I'd rather just stay here," he explained. "I'm sure one of the others would go with you though, if you didn't want to go alone."

I shook my head at him, refusing to let him skirt around the subject anymore. "I went with Edward three days ago." My husband knew that already - he'd refused the offer then too. I pressed a careful kiss against his jaw. "Please tell me you're not going to the hospital tomorrow? We need to figure out what is happening to you first."

He shrugged, guilty. "I survived this far-"

"Barely," I interrupted. "I'm sure Edward would agree with me." Part of me guessed that he was avoiding conflict with his manager - she'd been far from pleasant to him when he tried to take time off over the last week.

Sighing, he started again. "It's only another four days, and then I get three days off," he reminded me patiently. "I'm sure it won't kill me."

"A week ago, you would have been sure that you couldn't ever get sick." The reminder was kind of cruel and I immediately felt bad for it, rubbing his arm. There was an awkward pause between us, where he started to answer but was cut off by a pain invisible to me, wincing instead. "Carlisle?" Instinctively, I held the back of my hand against his forehead - a gesture he was quickly growing to despise - and forced back a sigh; his fever was _definitely_ getting worse. The excess heat was immediately obvious as soon as I was touching him for any length of time, a little comforting as it leached into my clothing across the small space between us.

He leaned his head against my shoulder when I prompted him to, relaxing ever so slightly as my fingertips brushed the back of his neck. "Are you in pain?" I asked, hoping I might actually get a proper answer this time.

He reluctantly nodded. "A little bit. It's not bad when I'm sitting still, though," he admitted.

"No moving, then," I teased, tightening my arms around him just a little. Are you still cold?" The fire was making my arm warm from across the room, and it was quite comfortable for me, yet he was still shivering. Looking away and hesitating again, he eventually mumbled that he was. "Perhaps we're going to need to get some heaters." It was something we'd never had to buy before and certainly didn't own.

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, his arms finding their way around my waist and his fingers sneaking under the bottom of my shirt as he hugged me. The warmth of his body soaked into me and we fell quiet again. I was half-focused on the movie playing, but Carlisle's uneven breaths made it hard to think about anything else. He wasn't listening at all, rather just leaning against me and zoned out. "I really don't like it here, Esme."

.

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	6. Chapter 6

**I'll be back to fix any major errors, I just wanted to finish the chapter and get it up seeming as it's been months since I last posted. Thanks for sticking around.**

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 **Carlisle POV**

I knew it was stupid.

I'd watched his funeral from a distance, seen them lower him into the earth and shovel dirt onto his casket. I'd heard that his heart was still in his chest, his blood stagnant in his veins, smelt that sickly sweet scent of death that was all too prominent to a newborn.

And yet, I'd still sort out his grave. I'd still made the trip out that damn church to make sure that the sad lump of rock still sat there, signifying his gravestone. It was almost unmarked now, worn away by over 300 years of English weather. It would have been impossible to find if it wasn't engrained so deeply in my memory. He may have been gone for centuries, but my father had been feeling all too present lately.

Seeing it didn't give me any sense of relief like I hoped it would. It didn't take the weight of being back in London off my shoulders, and it didn't make it easier to breath. It just made me miss home. Wherever that was now.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Edward's voice jolted me back into reality, competing to be heard over the howling of the wind and the rain.

I glanced over my shoulder as his footsteps drew closer. His sudden presence had startled me, my other senses heightening as fight or flight started to kick in. "You snuck up on me," I told him, hoping he'd drop the subject. He already knew what I was doing, of course, but I'd rather not have to explain to him that I was checking that my father's corpse was still where it should be.

An amused smirk slipped across his face as he came to stop at my side. "You know, maybe you should dig him up, just to make sure that the living-dead aren't real. Better safe than sorry, right?" He was squeezing my wrist, letting me know he was kidding, and I felt bad that the prospect made me so nervous that I couldn't find it funny.

"Did Esme send you out here?" I asked. She'd been upset with me for coming, even more frustrated when I'd told her that I was going to work afterwards.

"I came to check on you, Carlisle." The teasing had disappeared from his tone and his voice was softer, a sigh hissing between his teeth. "Alice had a vision, and it was too vague for her to be able to see you clearly, but you weren't happy. Perhaps you shouldn't be going to work this afternoon."

"I can't stay home all day; I'll go insane." I wasn't fooling him, and I wasn't sure why I was bothering to try.

"That's not it." Starting to get frustrated with me, he shook his head. There seemed to be a block that prevented him from clearly reading my thoughts, and it was a relief in that moment. He didn't need to know the mess I was trying to straighten out in my head. "Why not just wait until tomorrow?"

"I need to work, Edward, I just need something to make sense. Even if it's just for a few hours, I need to focus on something normal." That had always been medicine. It was a fast changing field, but always logical and systematic. Everything had a place and a reason. I needed that grounding while everything else was unfamiliar and up in the air. Maybe it would make London a little more bearable.

.

.

Except the charts in my hands were blurry, the abbreviations making me nauseous as I tried to get my eyes to focus enough to decipher them. My patient and her family were staring at me, and I was quite aware that it wasn't comforting to see your doctor's incompetence right before you went into surgery. "I just need to check something with the nurse," I reassured them. "Everything will be fine."

I all but bolted back into the offices, dropping the charts onto the nurse's desk and ducking into the theatre changing rooms. Everyone was already dressed in scrubs, seeming as the shift had started almost an hour ago, so the room was empty. I tripped my way through the civilian clothing that littered the floor - medical staff really weren't the tidiest when they were in a rush - and stumbled into the bathroom, closing and locking the door.

My head was swimming and I pressed my forehead against the wall, the cold tiles helping to drown out the echoing drip of the tap. In my pocket, my pager whined at me to answer it. I shakily pressed the button, listening to the doctor on the other end grumble at me for being late to the operating theatre. I wasn't. I had ten minutes before the surgery started.

The spinning of the walls turned my stomach. Bile crept up my throat, and I threw up into the closest toilet, pressure building in my head. Black spots floated through my vision. I was sure I was going to faint. My head hit the wall a little too hard as I misjudged the distance and tried to lean against it, and that damn pager was beeping again. I either had to answer it and tell them I couldn't do it, or hurry up and get to the theatre. Seven minutes.

I needed this job to work out so badly, and there was no way I could bail on that poor patient. I _had_ to do it. My legs shook as I carefully got to my feet, and I hurriedly got changed into scrubs like I should have done half an hour ago. By the time I got into the operating room, the familiarity of my actions had calmed me down a little bit, and I was thinking a little more clearly. The other surgeon glared at me, ignoring that I still had three minutes to spare and the sterilised equipment wasn't even in the room yet.

"You're late, Cullen," he grumbled. His scratchy voice only further irritated my headache, and I really wasn't in the mood to put up with his scoulding when I'd done nothing wrong.

"Actually, the surgery isn't due to start for another few minutes, and you're not scrubbed in yet either," I reminded him, trying to keep my tone polite. I headed to the sinks to scrub my hands and arms, ignoring the name he called me under his breath. The sterilising gel made my skin burn, the stinging only calm a little once I'd thoroughly rinsed it off under the tap. I had my gloves and surgical gown on before he'd dried his hands after doing the same, making it to the bedside just as the nurses slid the unconscious patient onto the table.

The poor girl had been in agony with an infected appendix for the past two days; we needed to get it out of her as soon as possible. The last thing she needed was for it to burst because her medical team were bickering - he could yell at me later if he wanted to so badly. It wasn't too difficult to block out any discomfort in my own body when I knew this girl would have been feeling ten times worse than I ever had. Her mother had been terrified too - understandably - and I just wanted to get her daughter back to her as soon as possible.

The nurses had set everything out how we needed it, and I got a little impatient as I waited for the other surgeon. He sauntered over a few minutes late with a frown on his face. "Let's get on with this," he grumbled.

Despite it being a commonly performed surgery, it took us over an hour to do as we fought off complication after complication. I was shivering rather badly by the time we finished, and I couldn't keep my hands steady as I stitched up the wound. As soon as everything was over and I didn't have to focus anymore, the exhaustion was overwhelming and everything hurt so badly I didn't want to move.

Suddenly horrifically queasy again, I tore off my gloves and rushed back to the bathroom, pressing my hand over my mouth to try and suppress it a little longer. Someone called my name, confusion staining their tone as I slammed the door. My legs shook under me until I sat on the floor, leaning over the toilet bowl as my stomach tensed and forced its contents up my throat. It became harder and harder to breathe and suddenly my vision was gone.

 _._

 _._

 _His heart pounded behind his ears as he tore through the field. Anything to put distance between him and his father. Blinded by the darkness, Carlisle did not noticed until he was crashing into the dirt that an old root had twisted around his ankle. The fall shoved the air from his lungs, his frantic gasps for breath drowned out by his father's heavy footsteps. The man brought the point of the scythe down against the adolescent's back in a fit of rage, the boys pain filled scream shaking the birds from the trees._

 _The pastor didn't care what his son's original sin had been. All he felt was pure anger, fueled by the alcohol pulsing through his veins. He slashed at the boy with the tool again and again, shredding clothing and flesh alike. Blood spilled into the field as he landed a solid boot against his rib cage, and his frenzy persisted until Carlisle ceased his panicked crawl, collapsing against the ground again to succumb to his fate._

 _His useless son was supposed to have brought down the hay within the past day, but the boy had barely finished the first section of field. It was only one of many failures. The pastor could not bring himself to be concerned for his life, throwing the tool onto his still form and stalking toward the house. He would lock the doors tonight; he did not wish his son to drag mud and blood throughout the house. Carlisle needed to clean up after himself._

 _._

.

I couldn't breathe. It was hard to move my fingers even a little and the pain it caused was so severe I started to lose consciousness again. I was freezing, vaguely aware that I was shivering and that the floor was sticky underneath me - blood having pooled in the bathroom tiles and dried. The metallic smell made me sick.

Someone knocked on the door, the sound reverberating around my skull. I needed to get water. That was all I could think about. The confusion turned to determination, and I slowly pulled myself onto my hands and knees - I just needed to get water, and all of this would go away. My wrist gave way, refusing to hold my weight, but I was too numb to feel the bones grating against each other. I didn't feel anything as I clumsily got to my feet. The room warped sideways and I fell against the wall, a bloody hand print smearing on the plastering when I tried to push myself off of it.

No matter how hard I tried to wash the blood off of myself, it was quickly replaced, crimson streams steadily dribbling down my arms as I frantically tried to wipe it away. It dripped off the sink and onto the floor, having soaked through my scrubs. I was getting so lightheaded that I couldn't see, my vision blurred to the extent that I wasn't sure how I was ever going to get out of here. There was another knock, and a voice called out to me, but it pushed me over the edge and the room went dark.

.

.

The incessant beeping was driving me insane. It took all of my concentration to move my hand, my fingers closing around a cord of some description. I pulled it without any logic, just wanting that sound to shut off so my head would stop pounding. I was only rewarded with a sharp pain further up my arm.

"Carlisle, love, don't upset that; they'll only want to put another in." Cold fingers closed over mine, stilling my hand. The voice was familiar, but it was so hard to think that it took me a moment to realise who it was.

"Esme…" That alarm was going to make me sick. Everything was a harsh white as I glanced around, but the walls were spinning to the point that I couldn't determine where I was. The pungent smell of bleach hung heavy in the air, and the souls of rubber shoes squeaked against the floor, making it even more difficult to make sense of everything. My attempt to move was quickly thwarted by my wife, her gentle hands holding my shoulders down against whatever I was lying on.

"I'm right here," she assured me."Are you alright?" There was a hint of worry in her voice that I really didn't like and I desperately wanted to take it away.

"I'm fine, I think," I told her. The last thing I wanted was to upset her more than I already had this morning. I tried to sit up again, but she didn't let me, easily forcing me back down against whatever I was lying on - it was soft _ish_ , but not entirely comfortable, and I was almost certain that it wasn't ours. That in itself didn't make sense; she normally wouldn't have been able to over-power me so easily like that. It would have been frightening if it hadn't have been my Esme.

"You're not 'fine', Carlisle, you passed out. You're in hospital; they think you had an accident." Her hands shifted, her fingers softly sifting through my hair. She kept her voice quiet, almost whispering. It was a wonder her words even made it to me; everything else was so loud.

Everything came back in a rush."That isn't what happened," I groaned, reaching up to rub my hand across my face. Something caught on my arm, resisting again when I tried to tug free. My breath caught a little once I realised what the problem was; an IV. Somehow, they'd managed to get a line in my arm, and the tubing pulled at the bag of fluid every time I tried to move. I quickly slid the clamp down on the pipe, cutting off the fluid so that it wouldn't continue pumping into me - I had no idea what that would do to my anatomy now I wasn't human. It shouldn't have been possible for them to get the needle into me in the first place, let alone find a vein. "Did someone call you?"

"Then what _did_ happen?" she asked patiently. "A receptionist phoned me and told me you were injured." Once she was satisfied that I wasn't about to throw myself off of the bed, she reached for my fingers, both of her hands closing around one of mine. "Someone hurt you, sweetheart, you can't have managed that by yourself. The other doctors didn't seem to think you could have cut yourself like that from slipping; you lost a lot of blood."

"Cut?" I repeated. That didn't seem right - nothing hurt, besides my head.

She nodded, kissing the back of my hand. "What happened?" she pushed again. Her palm against my forehead helped me focus a bit, and I fidgeted with the dressing around the IV, trying to peel it off me without her noticing. It could _not_ stay there; god knows what they would pump through it if I blacked out again. My grip on it was too weak to do much good, and all I achieved was making it sting.

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to tell Esme. 'My father hurt me 300 years ago, but I'm getting the injuries now because I keep thinking about it' wasn't exactly the most believable thing. Coming up with an excuse was too confusing while we were surrounded by the whirring of the hospital, and I was pretty sure whatever I was about to say to her wasn't going to make any sense, but I lacked the verbal filter to stop the words coming out. "I went to my father's grave this morning," I blurted out. _Idiot._

She sighed and frowned, leaning forward against the bed to kiss my cheek. "Edward told me. Why would you put yourself through that, love, you're only going to upset yourself." It wasn't accusatory at all, but it was obvious she didn't approve. She'd made it abundantly clear that she wasn't happy with me leaving at all this morning after how rough the last week had been.

The dressing finally gave way, and I quickly ripped the drip out of my arm. Blood wasn't something that I'd expected though. It bubbled out of the tiny prick in my skin, quickly running onto the bed before I had the sense to try and put any kind of pressure on it. Esme had definitely noticed what I was doing now, suddenly on her feet and moving far too quickly for a human environment as she rushed to grab some paper towels.

A bubble of panic started to form in my chest. I'd sat up too quickly and my vision darkened, my chest tightening until it was hard to breathe. Moving caused pain to ripple through my body, and I started to notice that the cuts and grazes were still very present, raw despite the bandages someone had put over them. "How long was I out for?" I asked her. My voice didn't come out as steady as I'd hoped, shaking and breaking before I could get a grip. I _really_ couldn't breathe. Each breath hurt to suck in, choking in my throat instead of reaching my lungs. "Where are we?"

Esme's eyes were wide as they met mine, trying to conceal her own worry. "I've been here for almost half an hour, but you were here before that. We're in the emergency room." She carefully perched on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and guiding me to lean against her. "What's wrong, Carlisle? What's happening?"

I couldn't answer her. The walls were warping sideways but I wasn't sure if it was from the pain or the movement and the nausea was unbearable and I was suddenly throwing up again-

My wife had somehow managed to get a container in front of me in time. I wasn't sure how she had, from the lack of warning I gave her. Another doctor had slid in through the obnoxiously patterned curtains at the sudden fuss, eyeing me unhappily. "Feel better?" she asked gently, rubbing my arm . Leaning closer, she lowered her voice so the other man wouldn't overhear. "He gave you some medication before that he said might make you sick. I don't know what it was, and I couldn't stop him without…" She trailed off, but I understood; squabbling with them about pain killers and why I couldn't have them was only going to expose our family.

"Lie down; you most likely have a concussion after your incident this morning," the doctor told me. His frown seemed ingrained in his face, annoyance deep in his features as he wrapped a pressure bandage around my arm to stop the bleeding. "You work here?" He had caught sight of the ID pinned to my scrubs, curiosity flashing across his face as he caught it between his fingers like I wasn't still wearing a hospital uniform and he didn't already know my name. As dramatic as it was, I wanted to die; this was _not_ how I wanted to be introduced to the ER staff. Chances are I'd have to work with this guy within a couple of weeks. "You've also broken three of your ribs, and have some deep lacerations."

"I'm a new surgeon on the acute team," I admitted reluctantly. I folded my free arm back over my face, trying to smother that sick feeling again. The cuts were starting to throb, the wounds burning across my back and arms, wrapped around my sides. Great.

"We can't find your medical files, either. Have you been in hospital before?" The curiosity had merged into confusion, and he was frowning at the clipboard in his hand.

"I just moved here from the US, there won't be records in this country," I told him. Partly true, at least. Talking was making the nausea come back, and it was making me nervous; I really did not want to throw up in front of him.

"Your blood pressure is extremely low; you lost a lot of blood, but not enough to account for that. Are you feeling alright?" he continued. His pen tapped against the page as he took notes.

My stomach sank and my ears started to ring. Passing out again became a very real possibility, and I dug my fingertips into the bed to try and fight off the feeling. The numbers on the monitor didn't make any sense - medically, I knew that a pressure that low meant the patient would be about to have a cardiac arrest, but I shouldn't have a reading at all. I shouldn't have a blood pressure to _be_ low in the first place, I shouldn't have a pulse, and they shouldn't have been able to pierce my skin with that needle. "Y-yeah, it's normally low to begin with; I feel fine," I managed to get out.

"Not that low though, right?" he asked skeptically. "And your pulse is slow." He was muttering to himself, confused, and I was starting to guess that he wasn't long out of medical school.

Beside me, Esme had stiffened, her hand locking around mine as the department door flew open with the arrival of an ambulance, the thick smell of blood coating the room. We really needed to get out of here. "I'm okay," I repeated. "Can I self-discharge? I just want to go home."

The doctor was suddenly distracted. His attention was immediately diverted to the trauma case, and I was pretty sure this was going to be my best chance of getting out of here without them doing any more assessments on me. He reluctantly looked back at me. "Legally, yes you can, but I don't recommend that you do; we need to admit you until we're sure your blood pressure-"

"My heart is fine; I'm probably just dehydrated," I argued. "I can take care of myself at home." Watching her hold her breath, I squeezed her hand as tightly as I could. "Esme, go if you need to get out."

She forced herself to look back at me, but her eyes had darkened and I could already see this ending badly. It would be a test for anyone to be surrounded by so many beating hearts and that much blood. "I'm staying, love. I'll be okay."

"You're a doctor, Carlisle, you know that it's not safe for you to leave," he argued. "You really want to do that?"

I nodded. Internally, I was trying to figure out how I was going to get myself steady enough to walk to my car. We need to leave before this got too much for Esme; I couldn't expect her to sit and enclosed space with someone hemorrhaging a few feet away.

He sighed through his nose, frustrated. I knew damn well I was being the patient that every doctor hated having. "I'll get the nurse will bring in your paperwork when it's ready then," he grumbled. His disappeared back through the curtain, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Don't you dare move until we've got your discharge papers. It isn't like we can go anywhere before then anyway," my wife told me firmly. Her hand was resting on my sternum, and I knew there wasn't much point in trying to resist her.

I gave up and relaxed against the mattress. The throbbing was turning into a mind-numbing ache, and I found myself wishing that I could take the pain killers after all. "Okay."

"Okay?" she teased, raising her eyebrows at me. "I didn't think you would surrender that easily, love." She caught my hand, kissing the back of it as she laced our fingers together.

"Only for you, Esme." I forced a smile. A shrill sound on the monitor attached to my arm ripped my attention away from her, and I found myself cringing away from it before I could stop myself. My blood pressure was fifty points lower than it theoretically should have been for a human - it was only going to make that doctor panic. I took my hand out of hers, ripping the velcro around my arm undone and switching off the machine. "God help them if they try and take my temperature; they'll have a stroke," I groaned.

Esme was quiet for a moment. Eventually, she seemed to come to the conclusion that she couldn't _not_ tell me, and sighed reluctantly. "They already did, Carlisle, the nurse said you were running a fever. Are you not feeling well, aside from being hurt?"

"Not really," I admitted. I wasn't entirely sure how to tell her that I didn't think I could make it out to the car without passing out again, and moving even a little sent pain rippling through my body. Exhaustion was starting to kick in again, the sudden silence between us making it hard to focus on any one sound as the chaos of the ER blurred into one chaotic mess. Five minutes passed, and then ten, fifteen, twenty, and the nurse still hadn't come. My head felt fuzzy, everything distant and weird. Maybe whatever they put through my IV was having an effect on me after all. "I feel like I'm going to fall asleep," I mumbled. My words wouldn't come out clearly no matter how hard I tried.

"Then go to sleep, love, I don't think it'll do you any harm; you were out for almost an hour before you woke up," she murmured. "It'll be okay, Carlisle. It might make you feel better."

"Are you going to be okay?" I caught her hand, running my fingers over his wrist. The last thing I wanted to do was abandon her in this place. I hated myself for needing to stay when she so desperately needed to leave; I could see how much it was hurting her in her face.

"I'll be fine," she chided anyway, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. "I'll wake you up when the nurse comes." Still, worry creased her perfect expression.

I wanted to throw up. I might have if I hadn't have blacked out a second later.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Apparently it takes me being housebound for a few days to finish this chapter, but it's finally done. Mind the grammar errors.**

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 **Esme POV**

Carlisle spent the next hour drifting in and out of consciousness. The blood had soaked into his scrubs and the sheets, his wounds far too obvious now he wasn't trying to hide them from me. I listened to the erratic beat of his heart, keeping my hand around his to squeeze his fingers when he stirred every few minutes. The noise in the room was obviously bothering him.

It seemed like an eternity before the nurse brought us the paperwork, and I found myself holding my palm against his forehead in an attempt to calm his fever before it worried someone was pale and starting to shiver, disorientated each time he made an attempt to talk to me. Where his IV had been looked inflamed now, a faint rash tracking up his arms, but it didn't seem to concern him now that it was out. More out of curiosity than anything else, I brushed my fingertips over the artery in his arm. The dull thudding that I'd been focused on for the last sixty minutes correlated with weak waves of pressure under his skin, though I couldn't for the life of me figure out how this was all possible.

An emergency buzzer rang out across the department, and a stampede of medical personnel charged in the direction of the crisis. The heavy presence of human blood wasn't tempting at all while my husband was in this state; it made my throat burn but I barely felt it.

Carlisle's pulse went through the roof at the abrupt sound. He violently jerked upright, his breath catching and his fingers digging into the mattress. His eyes met mine, wide and frightened, panic reflected. The nurse slipped through the curtain before he had time to say anything about it. She shoved the discharge papers at him while the fuss down the hall held her attention.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked him. Her disinterest showed on her face, and she was peeking through a gap in the curtains at the flurry of activity. It was a blessing in disguise - this was quickly turning into a nightmare for us; my husband was starting to get nervous, rejecting the blanket someone had given him at some point and cringing back from her hands when the nurse attempted to touch him. I didn't think he had recovered entirely from losing consciousness, still confused and a little incoherent.

"Yes," he told her quietly. He managed to wait until she'd disappeared again before getting to his feet. Immediately, I could see something had gone wrong; his legs collapsed out from under him, forcing him to sit back again as pain flashed across his face.

"Slowly, Carlisle," I pleaded. I shifted closer to stand directly in front of him, physically preventing him from getting up again until he looked a bit more stable. "Please be careful with yourself." My warning wasn't much good while he was dead set on getting out. Perhaps it was the medication they'd given him that was making him like this. "We'll only have to stay longer if you fall."

Nothing I said made any difference to him - he wasn't listening in the first place. Anxious, he fumbled to get his pager out of his pocket to switch it off, his hands shaking far too much for his movements to be anything close to co-ordinated. The battery fell against the ground as he battled with it, it's shrill alarm instantly silence. I bent down to pick it up, handing it back to him and holding his wrist before he could tear the ID band off himself. For the first time in our relationship, I didn't know how to make any of this better. "Do you know what's happening?" I checked carefully.

"I can't help them," he whispered to me frantically, sinking his teeth into his lip. "I don't work down here; I don't remember what to do."

It took a moment for me to realise he was worried about the crisis down the hallway. The emergency alarm was still blearing, but I'd quickly forgotten about it once my husband had tried to move. I brushed my fingers through his hair, pressing a quick kiss against his forehead in hope of distracting him. He normally didn't appreciate the gesture all that much, but he didn't seem to mind it now. "Love, you can't even walk at the moment. You don't need to remember right now. Try not to move too quickly." The doctor had been certain that he'd given himself a concussion when he'd fallen, so it was no wonder, really. The pain can't have been helping. "Do you remember what happened?"

He actually thought about what I'd asked him. His hand automatically went to where his lure had been, his pulse lurching momentarily. "Yeah." Standing upright was making the colour drain from his face, and he was still awkwardly leaning against the bed without being about to step away from it until I moved. "How bad am I...have you seen...?" Struggling to form coherent sentences, he was slowly becoming more and more agitated, his confused fidgeting turning self-destructive as he started to dislodge the bandaging on his wrist.

"I haven't seen how badly you're hurt, but the doctors were concerned," I told him softly. Seeing the utter confusion on his face, I pulled him into a careful hug. "Are you okay? Do you think you can walk without falling?"

"I just want to get changed and go home," he mumbled. Once I'd stepped away, he slowly pushed himself away from the mattress again, quickly reaching out to hold onto the wall instead. His teeth dug into his lip but he didn't mention how much it was obviously hurting him.

"Carlisle," I warned again.

"I'm okay," he told me quickly. "Come with me?"

"I'm not going anywhere without you," I pointed out. Rather, he was not going to get anywhere by himself. My eyes were glued to him as he released the wall, still unsteady on his feet and trying to make enough sense of everything to get out of the curtained cell we were in. Being under the bright lighting was making everything worse too.

"I don't think I can drive, Esme, my vision is blurry. Can you…?" Talking had been enough of an effort that he had to stop and lean against the doorframe.

I grabbed the back of his shirt to steady him as he stumbled, guilt ebbing in as it made him grit his teeth. "I wouldn't let you drive even if you wanted to. Where are your keys?" My hands weaved in and out of his pockets, but they weren't there. My hopes that we would just be able to go to the car without him having to go through the extra effort of having to get changed were immediately dashed. I was starting to doubt his ability to be able to walk that far; he looked dizzy, like he regretted getting up.

"They're in my locker," he told me softly. The colour had blanched from his face, the shivering more intense as he stopped again. His hands trembled so much that he dropped his swipe card when he tried to open one of the 'staff only' doors, the piece of plastic clattering against the linoleum.

"We need to get you home, sweetheart, you need to keep walking," I urged. I grabbed the card before he could, watching him hesitate as he contemplated bending down. "Do we need to go far?"

"Just upstairs." His smile was very forced, and he was squeezing my hand so tightly his knuckles were white. There was still hardly any pressure on my fingers.

.

.

It felt like an eternity by the time he'd fought his way to the elevator and gotten through the back corridors of the operating theatres. I'd never been through the restricted areas of a hospital before, but people weren't batting an eye at my presence. A couple of the nurses, dressed in the same scrubs as my husband, cautiously asked Carlisle if he was alright - it was a daft question; he was still covered in blood and looked like he was about to collapse.

He shoved the door of the locker rooms open with his shoulder, partially falling against it and completely ignoring that I was _not_ supposed to be in there. "Everyone is in theatre; they're not going to worry you're here," he told me breathlessly, catching the look on my face. I just nodded, desperately wanting him in the safety of our own home again.

It looked worse once he was in civilian clothing. I sat on one of the benches while Carlisle got changed as quickly as he could while he was hurting, resting my elbows against my knees as I watched him. Now that he was out of his scrubs, no longer a part of the hospital, he looked like all of the other patients; tired and frightened and unwell. Even with the dressings covering his wounds, the sight of them shocked me. He was still bleeding, dark red seeping through the white bandaging. "Slow down, love, don't rush," I murmured. My words prompted him to sit next to me, and pain flashed across his face as he leaned forward to tie his shoes.

"My stomach hurts; I just want to go home," he mumbled. He leaned his head against my shoulder after I touched his leg, sighing softly as I carefully closed my arms around him.

"Are you alright?" I asked softly. I trailed my finger tips across the back of his neck, pressing a kiss against his cheek. His breathing was sharp and uneven, his whole body too warm, and there was no strength in his movements as he tried to hug me. "Carlisle?"

"I'm alright," he told me. He wasn't though. He _really_ didn't look okay.

"Are you still nauseous?" I kissed his neck, sighing and reaching over to grab his keys when he mumbled something about them.

He nodded reluctantly. "I'm worried that it'll get worse in the car."

"We can stop if you get motion sick, Carlisle, it's okay." It wouldn't end well; he couldn't be bringing up blood in a human environment; it was beyond me how he'd managed it this far without worrying anyone. I was banking on there being nothing left in his stomach.

It was another few minutes before he was brave enough to attempt to walk down to the carpark. Even then he was shaky on his feet, his hand locked in mine as he led my back through the maze of corridors. His expression fell as we passed a block of offices and a woman stepped out. "Vickie, I need to go home," he told her unsurely.

Her mouth thinned into a harsh line as she frowned, her eyebrows knitting together almost comically. "I heard about the fuss you caused, Dr Cullen. Please don't come back here until you're sure it won't happen again," she warned. The harsh tone of her voice was enough to make me wince, so no doubt it was deafening to Carlisle while he had a headache.

He just nodded politely. "My manager," he whispered to me as we walked away from her, seeing the question on my face. "She already doesn't like me."

"Let's just get you out of here." None of this mattered anymore; it was obvious we weren't going to be able to stay in London for much longer.

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Somehow, he managed to make it into the countryside before he absolutely couldn't stand it anymore. His stomach cramped and he winced, quickly pressing his hand over his mouth as he all but begged me to pull over. The stress had mounted over the last few minutes, and we sat in silence as he tried to resist the urge to vomit. "Carlisle," I murmured, reaching over to rub his leg through his jeans. "We're almost there, love." It as odd, being in the driver's seat, like our roles had reversed. That, and he'd never needed looking after like this before.

A few tense seconds passed before he nodded slowly. "Are you opposed to speeding?" he tried to tease me, only half kidding. He dropped his hands into his lap, relaxing slightly but holding his breath as much as possible. His heart was beating frantically, pushing heat into his cheeks the longer I took to respond.

"No, but I don't think that's going to help your stomach any." It had been years since the last time I'd driven, and my shaky steering must have been putting him on edge. I didn't enjoy it normally, while he always had, so there were only rare occasions that I found myself behind the wheel. I'd only bothered to learn to drive in the first place because Carlisle insisted I might find it useful one day - he hadn't been wrong about that - but I couldn't bring myself to enjoy being on the road. My family never had the resources to own a vehicle while I was human, and it had taken me a long time to get used to anything that wasn't horse driven once I'd been changed.

"It doesn't matter, Esme, I just want to go home." The movement of the vehicle upset him as soon as I released the hand break, and I watched disapprovingly as he leaned his forehead against the window. Whether it actually helped or not was another question, but the coolness of the glass seemed to calm him if nothing else.

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I'd never had to care for my husband like this before. It had taken a little coaxing to get him into bed, and he still wasn't pleased about it. There wasn't much else he could do, though; he was too sore to move and too dizzy to stand up. Although he looked relaxed, his head in my lap as we sat on the bed together, the nervous fidgeting was unusual for him. He was slowly picking the threads of the duvet cover apart, only briefly deterred when I covered his hand with mine. The medication they'd given him in hospital had well worn off, if it had worked at all, and he was only getting more uncomfortable.

"You're making me sleepy," he mumbled to me, managing to focus enough to glance up at me and force a smile as I rubbed his shoulder. It wasn't often he sat still long enough for us to be together like this, and I was trying not to enjoy it too much.

"And you're making me warm," I teased. Heat spread through my hand when I pressed my palm against his forehead, earning another frown. "If you're this tired, sweetheart, go to sleep; it's already happened - what harm can it do?" Being awake certainly wasn't serving him well.

"Will you stay?" That was new too; Carlisle had never been 'clingy' like this before. Never relied on my proximity to him to keep his sanity. It had always been the other way around. Whatever this was had obviously frightened him today.

"I'll stay," I promised for what seemed like the millionth time today. Once he was distracted again, I pulled the blankets over him. We'd also never used blankets for warmth before, but it seemed like the best idea, despite his fever. Anything to stop his shivering.

The bed covers provided a bit of a barrier between us, stopping my body draining that heat from him. "Esme, please," he pleaded softly. His fingers closed around my wrist as I tried to tuck the blankets around him. "Lie down with me?" The hesitance on my face set his heart racing. "Please, love."

"I don't want to make you cold, Carlisle, you're already shaky." My thumb brushed over the back of his hand, the pulse under his skin making my chest tighten. "I don't want to make you worse."

"You won't; I'm already running a fever. Please." It hadn't been my intention to make my husband grovel for affection, and his pleading was quickly dissolving any reservations I had toward being so close to him. My reluctance was winding him up, anxiety breaking through his normally calm demeanor. He fought his way into sitting up. "Esme-"

I shushed him with a careful kiss. "Okay, but promise me you'll try to sleep." Shrugging out of my jacket, I dropped it over the edge of the bed to get it out of the way, shuffling up the mattress to lean against the headboard. It wasn't quite what he was asking for, but it was enough of a compromise to keep both of us happy. The clothing on the floor would have driven us both crazy under normal circumstances, but a crumpled sweater was the least of our problems at that moment. I slowly brushed my fingers through his hair was he lay with his head in my lap. Again it was a habit he wasn't appreciative of, but he let it slide today. I wasn't entirely sure that he was awake enough to comprehend me doing it.

.

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Time was passing ridiculously slowly. Carlisle couldn't sleep again, couldn't settle and couldn't get up. He was only taking shallow breaths, resisting movement as much as he could. I hadn't been paying attention to the state he was in over the last couple of hours, slowly rubbing the back of his neck and just hoping it would be over soon. His shirt was damp as my fingers brushed it and my stomach clenched painfully. "Carlisle, you're bleeding." My voice didn't concleal my panic at all. He winced when I pulled the fabric away from his skin, the dark colour of the cotton concealing what would otherwise have been obvious to me. The wound dressing underneath were almost entirely soaked through. "A lot. You're bleeding a lot."

"Enough to have to move?" he asked softly. He forced himself to sit up before I responded, a curse slipping between his lips despite him trying to joke with me. Standing up was still out of the question, but he managed to get upright at least. "Esme, I really don't feel well. I don't know what's happening."

"How much blood can you lose before it's dangerous?" I questioned anxiously. He hadn't had anything to eat that had stayed down since we'd moved, and the doctors had been concerned about his blood loss at the hospital, and I really didn't know how we were going to get blood for him while he couldn't hunt - god knows he'd refuse anything of human origin.

"A lot more than this." He attempted to smile at me, but it was just apologetic and nervous, falling quickly. "I'll just shower and it'll wash off-" He'd tried to stand again as he spoke, and I pulled him back onto the bed far more forcefully than I'd meant to. There was absolutely no way that was going to end well.

"We don't need you passing out in the shower; you're not going anywhere. What happened to that first aid kit?" Whether I had the nerve to actually help him was another thing entirely. I headed down the hallway to the office once he'd reluctantly told me where it was. The whole situation was making me queasy; I knew I was going to hurt him just by having to touch him, and he wasn't healing like he did last time - the grazes had looked considerably better within a few hours, but Carlisle wasn't improving this time. We were going to end up moving houses again - this couldn't keep happening. I couldn't live with myself and watch him go through this

My eyes were drawn to the blood that had stained the grain of the desk in his office as I dug through the draws to grab the first aid kit. We hadn't been able to wash it all away after he'd bled last time, forever a reminder of whatever had happened to him. Even bleach refused to lift it. Ignoring it, I picked up the case and headed back to him. "I don't want to hurt you, love," I pleaded with him. Trying to keep myself steady, I sat on the edge of the bed beside him, shifting his shirt out of the way.

"I'll cope." The colour had drained from his face and his nervousness had returned. He held still as I slowly started to started to change the bandaging, somehow ignoring my hands trembling. The soft reassurance he murmured to me didn't help to steel my stomach.

There was a moment where _I_ thought I was going to faint once they were finally off. The wounds were so deep and vicious, barely held together with stitches, and blood bubbled to the surface no matter how gentle I tried to be. Dark bruises covered almost every inch of intact skin, broken only by the gashes. I didn't know how to touch him, didn't _want_ to touch him, but he kept asking so that he could settle again. I quickly held some gauze against it to stop the mess from transferring onto the bedsheets, wincing as he flinched. "Carlisle…"

"It's alright, Esme. Please." It wasn't alright at all. His voice shook and he bit down on his lip so hard that his teeth split the skin. Despite the pain, I needed him to keep giving me instructions, even if they were half-hearted and disjointed. He was so distracted that I had to continually prompt him. "I think I'm going to be sick again; sitting up makes me so nauseous," he whispered to me a few minutes later. It was a cautious warning, like he really didn't want to say anything but didn't have any alternative.

I froze. I was halfway through trying to figure out how to work around the threads in his skin, and if he moved, I had no doubt that it would get worse. "I need you need to hold still for a few more minutes," I told him carefully. With my hand against his shoulder blade, I felt a shudder run through his body, muscles coiling and tensing as his stomach rolled.

"I can't, Esme," he told me.

I listened this time, rushing to get the trash can from the corner of the room and pushing him back as he tried to move. All I could do was hope that his stomach was empty. "Stay there, sweetheart, don't stand up." A few tense seconds passed before where he forced himself to breathe, and I hovered in case he lost consciousness again.

His pulse fluctuated between being dreadfully slow and far too fast, the colour draining from his face. He cursed softly, leaning forward against his knees to stop himself slipping.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress next to him, I carefully finished the banadaging, scared of the pressure that vomiting would put on his body - I couldn't deal with any more blood. "Lie down, Carlisle," I murmured, kissing his temple as he rested his head in his hands.

"I don't want to move; it's going to make me throw up," he mumbled back. Sitting still didn't help him any; thirty seconds later and he was scrambling to get a hold of the bin, wincing as he somehow managed to vomit yet again. He pressed his forehead against the metal rim, the cold surface helping to keep him conscious. "You really don't have to be here for this," he got out when he eventually caught his breath. It was a far cry from him pleading with me the hours before.

"Stop it, Carlisle, we've been married for almost a hundred years. I'm not going anyway." My laughter was dismayed, my hand landing on his leg."Sitting obviously isn't doing you any good, will you lie down now?" Not taking no for an answer, I ignored his heart rate skyrocketing as I took the bin off of him, forcing him to sit back. It didn't take much convincing once he realised I wasn't giving him an option.

His fingers locked around my wrist. "Will you still stay?"

"I thought you just asked me to leave?" I teased. I surrendered; he was utterly miserable and I wanted nothing more than to lie in bed with him for a while. His fever was still holding steady, my skin burning whenever I touched him, and I was trying to convince my guilty conscious it wouldn't hurt to bring it down a little. He _was_ the doctor, after all.

"I lied," he told me, attempting to mirror my smile as I slipped between the sheets beside him. "I really want you to stay."

"Please sleep, love. I won't go anywhere until you want me to," I promised. Finally, he started to relax, happier now he had his arms around me. It was odd, being surrounded by warmth as we lay together, even stranger to be lying there listening to my husband's pulse. His heart had calmed considerably since I'd settled with him, and it was something I was sure I would grow to love as much as he hated.

.

.

Although I had expected Carlisle to stay home from work the following shift, I hadn't expected him to be home with a 102 degree fever. He'd managed to sleep a little more overnight, but had woken up feeling absolutely terrible the next morning. The furthest he'd managed to get from bed had been to the bathroom when he needed to be sick, and the excursion had been short lived as he got dizzy.

Edward had supervised the event, as much as my husband disapproved. It comforted me a little to see him as worried as I was; Carlisle had certainly given up caring too much past wanting to go to sleep so he wasn't uncomfortable anymore. "A good doctor, but a useless patient," he commented to me, a half smirk on his face as I turned to face him.

"Shut up, Edward," Carlisle half grumbled at him, half hiding a tired smile. He'd spent the last fifteen minutes trying to force down a glass of water, trying to drown the burning in his throat, but I really didn't think it would be long before it all came back up again.

I shook my head at both of them. The dynamic between them had been awkward all morning, but they both seemed to want to be around each other. He'd never admit it, but having Carlisle ill made Edward nervous, and he seemed to have a need to be close to him for his own comfort. He cornered me in the kitchen, whispering to avoid being overheard. "Did he tell you what's wrong? Jasper says he's frightened, but I can't read him. Alice can't see him, either," he told me, his whisper almost frantic.

I didn't like that at all. "I don't think he knows, but we haven't had that conversation yet."

"But what do we do?" he pressed. His voice crept up in volume as he started to lose his temper. No one was coping well with Carlisle not being himself, and Edward wasn't excluded from that, as calm as he pretended to be.

I pulled him into a careful hug. "I don't know. I really don't know, love."

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